


Dream State

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Leverage, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, End of the World, F/M, Hallucinations, Psychological Drama, Rare Pairings, Sexual Content, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: The world that they knew has been ripped apart.





	1. The Farmhouse

**Author's Note:**

> Oh geez, I hate doing summaries and titles. So, this thing has been in the works for a few years. Yes, years. I've gone back and forth with this fic for so long. At one point, it was only around twenty pages. Then I continued. Then I did a crossover. And it's taken on a life of its own. There are rare pairings, major character deaths, and everything in between. There's also a sequel in the works, which I have already started. Hope that you enjoy this crazy thing.

Chapter One—The Farmhouse

The room was cold. Not as cold as the outside, but he could see his breath as he sat directly to the side of the window, back against the wall. He was lucky the window wasn’t broken, at least keeping what little heat from the waning sun inside. As he peaked outside, he saw the beautiful sunset off in the distance. Why could something so beautiful bring on something so menacing?

“I don’t know if we have enough furniture to barricade everything.”

Nate Ford sat in a dream state, wondering if the hues of the near nighttime sky matched that dress Sophie wore so long ago. She definitely loved the overdramatic things in life. Her smile sparkled in front of his face, so full of life and love. The ring on her finger grazed his cheek as her hand gently touched his face. They were married, weren’t they? He couldn’t remember if it had happened or if the vision was all a dream.

“Nate. Earth to Nate.”

Parker. Now he knew she wasn’t a dream. His Parker. The strongest of the bunch, able to withstand almost anything. She could compartmentalize with the best of them. The exact opposite of what he’d managed to do. She put away everything in the back of her mind to survive. It would only come out at night when she thought he was deep in sleep. He never slept deeply now, if ever. Probably why he couldn’t focus right at that moment.

“Yeah, barricade, furniture. Let’s get to work.”

It took an hour before both were satisfied that they could rest a little that night. Rummaging through the kitchen, Nate found a can of soup. Parker’s cry of triumph from the basement at first scared him, making him draw his gun. She came running toward him, glass containers held up in each hand.

“Hot diggity damn. Peaches. There’s lots more down there.”

They’d feast tonight instead of starving. Parker’s cheekbones were too prominent, her arms smaller than they’d ever been. She told him she could feel his ribs poking out sometimes when she held on tight to him in the middle of the night.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to eat their fill. It felt good to have their stomachs quiet that night. The outside was quiet too, no sounds of birds or any other animals. It felt kind of eerie, but at least it was better than the alternative. The fields that they’d passed through to get to the abandoned farmhouse were bare, void of vegetation in the deep of winter. No lights of course for as far as the eye could see. No humans as far as the eye could see.

“We should see if anyone left any clothes. You think there’s water?”

“If it works, it’ll be cold,” his hoarse voice answered.

He reached for his throat, feeling a scar on it along with the beard from not shaving in a long while. Maybe he could find a razor too.

“Cold is better than none.”

Parker bounded up the stairs, looking like an excited child as she did. She was all woman, he knew that for a fact, but her enthusiasm wasn’t contagious that night. He just wanted to sleep, and possibly get clean. He checked each entry point yet again, making sure that no one could get in without them hearing. Grabbing what supplies he could, including the guns, he made his way slowly up the steps, his feet shuffling against the hardwood floors. He could hear water running in the distance. 

“Water,” he managed to get out.

“Fuck,” he could hear Parker say triumphantly.

It must be cold too, but she wouldn’t care. Neither would he. As he dropped his boots on the floor of the bedroom, he tugged his socks off, looking at the dirt in between his toes. Soaking would get a better result, but the water would be too cold to manage that. He wouldn’t let sleep overcome him before getting clean. This was his chance to feel human again.

His belt and pants came next, shirt slowly pulled over his head. All the stains on it might have worried him in the past. Now it was a sign of living. Blood, fluid, whatever he encountered on an almost daily basis told him he was still alive and kicking. Well, barely kicking, but whatever.

Scratching the back of his head, he wondered how much longer it would take Parker to get clean. He really wanted that shower as soon as possible. At least Parker had taken off most of his hair. That wouldn’t take long to get clean.

“Clothes, clothes, clothes,” Parker chanted as she burst into the room, pulling out drawers, pulling out whatever she could find. 

Yanking a t-shirt over her head, she sighed in relief. She had been standing there naked. She’d never been embarrassed about that. It was the fact that he could see the goosebumps on her arms and chest. Indeed, it must be cold. She ran hot usually.

“Your turn, old man.”

“My turn,” he wearily sighed.

“You’ll feel better. And smell better.”

He inhaled her scent as she walked by, looking for pants to wear. The underwear she’d found were tight and small, but since she was so skinny, they were a perfect fit.

Slipping off the bed, he slowly made his way into the bathroom. It was slightly warmer than in the next room, which was good. Turning on the shower, he yanked his underwear down and off. The towel that Parker had found to dry off was hanging haphazardly off the rack. He grabbed it and threw it over the side of the shower.

The water felt heavenly. Sure, it was fairly cold but not as cold as he had imagined. Someone had left shampoo. He scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin turned pink. Drying off as much as he could, he rummaged until he found a toothbrush and toothpaste that Parker had supplied. Parker had already found what she needed. Probably why she had smelled so good when she came into the bedroom. No razor was in sight, so he’d have to forgo that until he could find another one. His last one was lost the last time they were able to stop and rest. When had that been? Two weeks prior? Or more? He couldn’t remember that far back.

Sophie smirked at him in the mirror, caressing his shoulder as she did. Her hands traveled up his chest, fingers lightly tracing his collarbone and neck. Grabbing a hold of the sink in front of him, he almost fell as the sensations he thought he experienced disappeared just as quickly as they had happened.

Rubbing the towel across his head, he opened the door to the bedroom. Parker had found him clean clothes to wear. At least he wouldn’t have to rummage like she did.

“Those should fit,” she announced from under the blankets on the bed.

The shades were drawn, shielding them both from the outside world. Parker was never one to be shy, but she wouldn’t look him directly in the eyes as he pulled on the cold clothes. Something was on her mind, he thought. She never acted like this unless something was wrong.

Nate shivered as he sat on the bed, pulling the blankets back so he could get warm again. The shower had done wonders for his mood, but he hoped that Parker would not bring it down. He wanted to savor being clean and warm for at least a few minutes.

“Parker.”

“Nate.”

“There something you want to say?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

They were not more than three inches apart on the bed, face to face, cuddled up under an enormous number of blankets.

“Possibly.”

“Probably.”

“What is it you want?”

“Nate, it’s not what I want.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Can’t we just have a conversation about stuff?”

Conversation about stuff? Sure, what would they talk about? The fact that the two of them were the only ones left? That they probably were going to die in the near future? There was nothing left for either one of them, even though Eliot had told both that they needed to live, for him at least. How long had it been since Eliot had died? He couldn’t even remember. He remembered the exact moment Sophie had left him, just as he thought that Parker would remember the exact moment that Hardison had perished.

Eliot had done his best to keep them all alive, sacrificing himself so that they could live. Parker had railed against Nate as soon as she could, as soon as they’d gotten to safety. She thought it was his fault. It probably was his fault. He’d take that responsibility, just as he’d take the responsibility to make sure she would survive for as long as possible. That was why he hadn’t just taken a bullet to the head to put himself out of his misery. She was too important, to him and to the world at large.

“What would you like to talk about, Parker?”

“Anything. Everything. I want cereal. Ice cream. Fuzzy slippers.”

All she had were a few items of clothes and her precious bunny in the backpack she always carried with her. All Nate had was Sam’s drawing and a photo of the five of them in happier times. And Sophie’s ring. He’d kept Sophie’s ring. He thought to barter it at one point, but Parker wouldn’t let him, finding another way to get food.

“Football, pizza, beer, chocolate chip cookies.”

“My rigging, tall buildings, alarm systems, flying.”

“Art, music, my trumpet, jasmine.”

Jasmine had been Sophie’s favorite fragrance. 

“Star Wars, lightsaber, cell phones, Hardison.”

Nate’s throat closed over. It took him some time to be able to talk again.

“Pasta, whiskey, hamburgers, clean sheets.”

This was their game, thinking of things that they missed, things that they wondered if they would ever see or use again. He could see the sparkle in her eyes like she was thinking of something either funny or very, very strange. He had long ago figured out that Parker’s mind didn’t work the way everyone else’s mind did. That didn’t bother him. It made her Parker. It made her unique. It made her strong.

“You think we have too many blankets?” Parker asked as she pulled one off.

It was getting warm, too warm, but that wasn’t the cause of the warmth. Parker’s fingers were tracing his jawline, the features of his face like she was attempting to memorize every feature of him for future reference.

“No razor?”

“No razor.”

“We’ll find one eventually. Not that I mind.”

He shivered as her fingers traced his chapped lips.

When had this started? When had they decided that they both needed the comfort of simply being with each other? Before Eliot had died? Possibly. With both Hardison and Sophie gone, they managed to argue way too much, enough so that even Eliot would take to yelling at them to stop. Once, in the middle of the night, with Eliot off patrolling their position, they’d gotten into it yet again on strategy, what to do next, where to go next. She disagreed, he pushed, she pulled, he got in her face, which had never happened. That was when she backed down finally, a look of hurt on her face. He apologized, pulling her close to make sure she knew she was valued. She clung to him, tears streaming down her face. The kiss had come out of the blue if just to tell her that he cared. She had taken it as an opening and had pushed him down, deepening the kiss, nearly sucking the life out of him as she did. Her hands roamed his body, igniting something he thought had died along with Sophie. It was almost like he hadn’t cared it was Parker, but he had cared. Very few clothes were shed, but the effect was the same. She was joined to him now, in more ways than one. Eliot didn’t comment, but Nate was sure he had figured it out eventually. Nothing flew past the man that was for sure. Of course, since Parker was doing the same thing with Eliot, it seemed to not matter. It wasn’t mentioned, ever. Parker took each of them when she wanted, damn the consequences.

“Parker,” he whispered as her lips ghosted on his neck. Definitely too many blankets.

Both of them had cried out their former lovers’ names at one point or another. He once called her Sophie as he reached his peak, her above him, head falling back. She once sighed out Hardison’s name as she came down from an intense bout with her against a wall and his legs almost giving out on him. Eliot’s name sometimes was on both their minds and their lips, particularly once he was gone for good.

They had all the time in the world at this point to explore each other. Nothing frantic or needy. They were cocooned inside a house out in the middle of nowhere, cold as it was. That didn’t bother either one of them in the least. Her smile was playful when she pulled back, hands now working to the back of his head.

He’d only ever asked permission once, that first time, just to make sure she was a willing participant in what they did together. It wasn’t about want at that point, it was about need. They both needed something from each other, whether it was comfort or release. She cried out as he touched her intimately, tears escaping down her cheeks. He kissed those away, the look on awe on her face evident as he did. Sure, he was a heartless bastard before. How could he be now? Not with her, never with Parker. She was his world now. She’d stay his world.

Shimmying out of her clothes, he watched as she threw them to the side. How she did that without cramping a muscle was beyond him. He’d have a much more difficult time of it without getting up and out from underneath their blanket fort.

“Need some help?” she joked as her hands traveled down his chest, raking her nails against his cotton shirt.

“You offering?”

“I might be persuaded.”

Her skin was still so soft. He thought that lack of hygiene and general neglect would make it not feel so soft. They tried, oh they tried to make sure that the everyday things like bathing, eating, sleeping was on their agenda. It didn’t always work out that way. They’d both joke sometimes on who was smellier, or who had the crazier hair, hence the haircuts they’d given each other a few weeks prior. The scissors hadn’t been sharp, but they did the job. They’d both been clean then, at least until the hair started flying and the clothes afterward. 

The shorter haircut suited Parker. Not that she needed anything to make her cheekbones more prominent, but the cut definitely did. He needed to make sure she ate more in the future. They both sometimes would not eat so the other one could. That game needed to end. He could survive on much less than she could.

As he reached out, she smiled his way. He was so glad she could smile again. After Eliot had left them, her smile was slow to return. Nate worried about her more than ever. One night as she cried herself to sleep, he traced all the features on her face. A smile broke out as she slept, possibly because he had accidentally tickled her as he lightly touched her. From then on, she’d give him a bright smile every day, even when things weren’t looking all that great. There, right where they were, things did look a bit brighter. Her smile lit up the room and his heart, if just a little.

“Geez, slowpoke.”

“Most definitely.”

It was like they were two different people once they shared a bed. Neither one was like themselves from previous years. She was Parker, he was Nate. She wasn’t so much younger than he was, he most definitely hadn’t been married to the love of his life. Sophie had always been the elephant in the room, driving a wedge between them more times than not. He always had to put her in the back of his mind as he lay next to Parker. He was sure her thoughts never strayed far from Hardison. He’d never asked though. Maybe he should someday.

“So soft,” he whispered as his callused hands stroked over her shoulders and down her arms. She needed to gain some muscle. Her fat stores were already depleted. Maybe they could possibly spend a little time in the house, eating up all they could before traveling on. Their meal of peaches and green beans along with the can of soup had been a meal fit for a king or two starving people.

The pads of his fingers moved up her arms, eliciting a groan from her. He never knew that Parker could be so expressive. Sure, she always pulled faces before, but the way she was in bed never ceased to amaze him. His mouth found that point on her neck that made her squirm against him. It was almost the same spot that drove Sophie wild, but he’d never mention that to Parker.

His hands skimmed down her shoulders, settling just underneath her breasts. She indeed had gotten so much skinnier. She was never that big to begin with, but without nourishment, she was even tinier. There was still some roundness to her, her breasts, her behind. Sophie hadn’t lost any of her fullness, but she had died much too soon before they had to travel just to survive, to eat. He missed her, he deeply missed her.

This was gentle. He wasn’t always gentle with Parker, nor was she. Sometimes she’d bite him, pinch, grind, pin him down until she took what she needed. He didn’t mind. He sometimes would do the same. Now he had the time to explore and would take advantage.

“We should find you some lip balm,” she laughed as his lips worked their way to the tops of her breasts.

Her fingers worked up and under his shirt, tracing his back, fingers making small circles as she did.

“What should we find you?” he asked.

“I want to take a bubble bath. Hot water. I want hot water.”

Parker gasped as his lips closed around her nipple, sending tremors throughout her body. Every single time, it seemed like this surprised her like she didn’t know what it would feel like as he took her in his mouth. Her reactions were so beautiful to watch, to experience. Her fingers tightened on his back, stroking lower to his waistline, dipping inside. Working their way inside his pants, she squeezed his backside hard, making him suck all that harder when she did. Leaving one side, he moved on to the other, eliciting another groan from her, her leg coming up across his. She tasted like the most succulent fruit he could imagine, a combination of strawberries, oranges, peaches, sweetness. Sophie had always tasted so exotic, like some ripe fruit that burst out as he bit down on her. Parker was all sweetness and light.

Parker’s ribs were too prominent, so he bypassed them so she wouldn’t feel upset about them. She’d become angry once, knowing that he was looking at how skinny she’d gotten. Parker never was one for vanity, but that one point in time she was. He was careful ever since.

Was it love, need, lust that drove him to her? Was it the fact that they felt like they were the only two sane people left on the planet? Was it comfort, the need to connect on a base level, human level that drove him to seek her out in the first place? He was beyond hurting that first time, when she had pulled him into her arms, literally milking him dry inside and out. His mind had quieted in the first time in months when she had finally finished. It was all trapped in grief and suffering. Not that she wasn’t suffering. She had needed something from him too. Comfort was the only word he came up with at that time, but it was more than that.

“You gonna take care of business?”

She always did try to lighten the mood when he went inside his head. Here he was just savoring the feel of her.

“In due time.”

“Fuck,” he cried out as she finished.

Her head came to rest on his stomach as her breathing settled, her hands gripping his hips as she did.

“I still think something’s wrong,” he managed to get out finally.

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re too quiet.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk and maybe I do.”

Cryptic much was all he could think.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“What? For another go?”

“Oh geez, Parker. Give me a little time.”

“Wimp.”

He chuckled as she climbed up his body to settle on top of him, head resting at his neck.

“Old is not being a wimp.”

“Yeah, well. You can deal.”

He wondered how he kept up with her. Probably because of Sophie, who seemed to have been insatiable too. Practice. Lots and lots of practice.

“You miss her, don’t you?” her small voice came out.

“Every damn day.”

“I miss them all. I miss Hardison complaining to Eliot. I miss Eliot grumping. I miss Sophie’s voice. It was so soothing at times.”

He missed Sophie’s voice too, her lilting accent, her growl when he found that perfect spot on her neck when his fingers knew exactly how to thrust inside her making her come so hard and fast. 

“Could you, I mean, would you? Damn it.”

Parker buried her head in his chest.

“What, Parker? What do you want me to do? You just have to ask.”

“I want, I want someone to love me. Just a little.”

Nate’s heart broke into a thousand pieces at that instant. He’d always been so focused on the past, missing Sam, missing Sophie, missing his life from before. His breathing sped up as he placed his hand on her cheek, to get her to really look at him right then.

“I can see. Every time you look at me, you see Sophie. I loved her too. Not the same way, but I did. I also loved Alec and Eliot. I know you do, did.”

Flipping her over, she was now underneath him. He made sure she was looking at him directly, almost nose to nose now. Propping himself up on his elbows, his forehead dropped down to hers, sighing as he did.

“I love you, Parker. I love how you keep me sane. I love how much you can still see the good in this world, even though it’s almost used up. You are my world, my everything. I need you.”

Parker gasped when she heard that. He really did need her, badly needed her.

“But you always only needed Sophie. That’s why she came back. I want to be that.”

“You can’t be that, Parker,” came out, voice hoarse. “You’re not Sophie. She’s gone. You’re Parker. It’s different.”

“So, you can’t love me as much as you loved Sophie?”

His heart hurt for her. He truly tried to tell her what he was feeling, even though he really didn’t know what it was.

“I loved Maggie. Different from Sophie. I loved Sophie. So different from Maggie. Neither are here.”

“So, you can love someone and it’s different? I just, I don’t understand. It hurts sometimes. The way you look at me. Like you’re seeing her instead of me.”

“Do you see Hardison?” Nate said, the question coming out harsher than he had wanted.

“I do. Sometimes. Just a touch. Or something you say. You picked up a little of the way he said things.”

Nate chuckled at that. Hardison did have a way of telling people what he thought.

“I can’t forget Sophie. Don’t make me. Please, don’t make me,” he begged.

He watched as the tears flowed out of her eyes, down her cheeks. His matched hers, falling on her chest, her neck.

“Not fair to make you. Just like I can’t forget Hardison and Eliot. You know I loved them both, right?”

Nate had suspected that was the case, but he never pushed to find out. Eliot was always so closed off, even to him. The few times the two of them had encounters, if one could call them that, hadn’t opened up Eliot in the least. He wondered if Parker knew what had happened between the two of them. 

“I know. I’m glad you did.”

“Did you love him, Eliot I mean?”

Flashes of hard lips, being pushed up against a wall, Eliot’s lips around him, heat, hands jerking him off.

“Not like that. Not the way you did.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“As I said. Different.”

“He told me.”

Nate’s head dropped down to Parker’s chest. He rolled over, hand now above his head.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think less of you or him. He was scared, for you and for him. You kinda went inside your head there, after Sophie. And then Hardison. That just about killed him.”

Nate remembered when Hardison had been killed. Eliot was almost inconsolable. Parker hadn’t even known what to do. Eliot reached out to him, told Nate he needed something, but he didn’t know what. He’d literally cried on Nate’s shoulder for hours as Parker slept in the next room. One thing led to another. Nate couldn’t even remember half of what happened, they were both trapped so much by grief at that point. 

“He loved Hardison, didn’t he?”

“He did. It was like half of him was ripped away. Just like when Sophie…”

Their encounters didn’t happen that often. Nate could only count on one hand when Eliot had needed him. Only when Eliot remembered the past did he come to Nate, usually in the dead of night once Parker was asleep. He told Nate later he never wanted Parker to know. Nate never understood his stance but honored it.

All the deaths, they’d happened so fast, they had to move so fast right after, no one had time to grieve. Early on, Nate knew they had to escape, to travel to the countryside. The day they were ready to leave, had supplies gathered, Sophie had asked for more medicine. Eliot hadn’t wanted to wait, but they knew they’d never find these items once they left the city. The antibiotics wouldn’t take much time to retrieve and they all knew exactly where the medicine was. They’d been followed back to where they’d holed up. Eliot was good, but apparently not as good as he wanted to be. The attack didn’t last long, but a bullet to the head was a bullet to the head. She didn’t suffer, didn’t even have time to tell Nate goodbye. Nate was numb for weeks once Sophie was not around, trying to figure out how to just fade away from the group. Parker held him, told him that if he tried to slink away, she would kill him herself. She had become his keeper, making sure he ate and slept when they could. 

Hardison’s death had been the ultimate surprise. They never saw it coming, spear piercing right through his chest. Eliot went crazy, killing at least ten people in less than ten minutes’ time. Nate had tried to save Hardison, but without modern medicine, it was a lost cause. Parker kept yelling at him to get up, to get better, but it was too late. He died gripping Parker’s hand, eyes open wide to the sky, blood bubbling out past his lips. It had taken all his strength to gather Parker up and get her out of there. She didn’t want to leave Hardison out in the open, just like Nate hadn’t wanted to leave Sophie in that abandoned warehouse. In the end, they had to do both. No burials. No funerals. No prayer except what Nate could say in his mind as they ran.

Eliot though had lingered for weeks. The infection snuck up on him after Eliot was injured. Nate could see it swelling at the site but had nothing to treat it. Parker finally was able to find antibiotics, but by then it was too late. He died in agony, begging Nate to just kill him. Nate didn’t have the guts. At least they were able to say goodbye to him. The smile on his face once he slipped into a coma told Nate that he was ready to go. Nate kind of envied him a little, able to let go.

Tears gathered again in Nate’s eyes as he remembered what happened to his friends, his colleagues, his lover. Parker’s gentle kiss on his shoulder brought him back to reality, back to her.

“I love you,” she whispered as he drifted off to sleep, Parker wrapped around him to ward off the cold.


	2. Parker's Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate wakes up to find Parker missing.

Chapter Two--Parker's Gone

Nate awoke with a start early the next day, cold and hungry. Parker was no longer wrapped around him, keeping him warm in the middle of the night. He hoped she was gathering more food from the basement. His stomach grumbled as he rose from the bed, pulling his clean clothes on to go and find her. His brain was fuzzy like he’d slept too long and too hard.

“Parker,” he called out. 

Nothing.

Wandering around the house, he found the basement door. Going down, he only found a few more glass jars, most of which had spoiled. She had told him she found more than that. What was going on? Maybe she’d already moved them upstairs. Traveling through each room, he looked and looked, but couldn’t find her. Her clothes were gone from the bedroom. Climbing the steps, he looked for her backpack, but that was gone too. He frantically searched the whole building, coming up empty.

As quickly as he could, he pulled his socks and boots on, tying the laces up tight just in case he had to run. He gathered what he could into his pack. Just as he was putting his gun behind his back, he saw it, sticking out from underneath the bed. Parker’s bunny. She’d somehow forgotten her bunny. It was dusty from neglect. Nate yanked off the blankets from the bed if maybe to find evidence that she possibly left. It was clean, too clean. It didn’t smell like her. He searched for her old clothes, the ones she had thrown off her body the day before. Nothing. There was no toothbrush in the bathroom, no towel. The water worked, but it was rusty and frigid. He had even more of a beard, days more growth.

Nate was officially going crazy. Had he slept for days, weeks? He couldn’t have. He would have died of dehydration. There was no way. Inching his way outside, he looked and looked for their footprints, but could only find one pair. His bootprints were the only ones visible if barely. The snow that had fallen heavily the night before had erased every other trace of them outside. He could see nothing for miles. As he stood in the driveway, he noticed more flakes starting to fall. There was no way he’d find her in this. He didn’t even know where to start.

Slowly climbing the steps, he pushed the door open, wondering if this was it. Was this what was going to happen to him? Die alone in some place where no one would know him and who he was?

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”

His hallucinations usually didn’t take up too much space in his brain, but now was not the time.

“I don’t have time for this, Sophie.”

“You have all the time in the world, Nate.”

“Listen. Time’s up,” Eliot echoed.

“That’s all there is, man,” Hardison joined in. 

Nate didn’t even want to look up to see their shining faces.

“Parker,” Nate yelled repeatedly.

No one answered. 

Nate woke up the next morning, not remembering how he’d gotten up the stairs. The blankets were wrapped tightly around him, but all he felt was cold. He’d lie there, possibly die right where he lay. It was no use.

Nate would sometimes hear murmurs in the background as he lay in the bed. Sounds off in the distance rolled through his mind. He was hallucinating again, but that didn’t matter. He’d be dead soon, not caring at all.


	3. And Nate's Hallucinating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate thinks he's hallucinating.

Chapter Three—And Nate’s Hallucinating

Only he didn’t end up dead, like he thought would happen. His arm was hooked up to an IV when he woke up next. The room was too bright, too white as he slowly opened his eyes. Great, he thought, another hallucination. He hated hospitals. Not a good hallucination this time.

Jerking around, he noticed that his arms were strapped to the bed, as were his feet. It hurt as he thrashed around, trying to break free. He didn’t want to be confined. He wanted to leave, to die in peace.

“Let me go,” he yelled, hoping that his mind would wake up and he could curl up into a ball.

“Sir, it’s ok. You have to calm down.”

“Let me go,” he yelled and yelled until his arm felt heavy, possibly from someone drugging him.

Waking up again, he noticed that the restraints weren’t as tight. The IV was still in place, but his head was clearer. This lucid dream needed to go away.

“I see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Let me go. I have to find Parker. Just let me go,” he chanted as he yanked on the restraints again.

“We don’t want to drug you again.”

The vision that swam in his head touched his arm lightly. He felt it. Cool fingers near his IV line. 

“This is all a hallucination. You have to let me go. I just want to die in peace. Please?”

“Now we’ll have none of the sort,” another voice called out.

The voice was British in origin, but not the lilting kind that Sophie had. He could finally see her off in the distance, standing at the foot of the bed where he lay. She was checking the chart that hung at the end while the nurse changed the IV bag.

“We don’t know your name. Do you remember your name?”

It all came crashing back down on him. Was this whole thing a dream? Were the others still alive and kicking? He decided it was best to answer her, to see if she reacted at all.

“Nathan Ford. My wife is Sophie. I’m retired from Leverage and Associates. We just moved, from Portland. Sophie thought she’d love living in New York, so that’s where we landed. Where am I?”

“Do you know where your wife is, Mr. Ford?”

“No. Please tell me where she is.”

“We found you in an abandoned farmhouse outside of Fargo, Mr. Ford. No one else around. You were starving by the looks of it.”

Nate spotted his boots off in a corner along with his pack, a bunny ear sticking out of the top.

“Parker,” he cried. “Did you find Parker? Please tell me you found her.”

“Parker? I thought you said your wife’s name was Sophie?”

“Parker, she’s my, we worked together. She’s, I have to find her. I woke up and she was gone.”

“Mr. Ford, as you know, the world is a different place than before. You are one very lucky man that one of our patrols found you.”

Nate strained against the restraints. He had to find Parker.

“Please find her. She’s all I have left.”

“There was no one else present, Mr. Ford. We searched thoroughly. There was a freshly dug grave out back, but no one living. Could that have been your friend?”

“Did you look? Did anyone look? Oh god, no,” he cried.

She couldn’t be dead. Not when they were this close to civilization. They hadn’t known there was something out there, people out there that weren’t crazy.

“Mr. Ford, no one dug up that grave, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You have to let me go. I have to go back.”

“At this point in time, I’d advise against that. Just rest and get better, Mr. Ford.”

The next few days were challenging, but cooperating might get him released sooner than later. He asked questions about where they were located (Minneapolis), what they were (military), and what was going to happen to him (they would never answer that question).

Once the restraints were taken off, he could get up and regain his strength. He needed to, so he could steal a vehicle and get back there, to find Parker once and for all. Over the next week, he worked on eating, exercising and gaining weight so that he could escape. No one suspected anything. He watched guards, watched rotations, found a way out and where they kept the spare vehicles. Stealing a uniform was easy, a bit too easy. He guessed that people generally didn’t want to leave the city where he was now residing. Plus, it was really cold. If Parker was in that grave, then the cold would help preserve her body so that he could identify her and figure out exactly what happened.

In the back of his mind though, he knew something was not right with all that had transpired. The scene at the farmhouse was set too well, looked as if he’d been abandoned by his companion instead of her being taken. Nate would find her one way or another, if she was in that grave or if someone took her. And they’d pay.


	4. Parker Makes A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker's back and she's made a possible new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, well, now I'm starting to ramp up what the hell is going on. Took long enough to set up, huh? Hand wave some of the stuff that Parker knows how to do and why. Come on. Don't you think she's encountered a bomb before? I have no idea. As I said, hand wave and it'll make it so.

Chapter Four—Parker Makes a Friend

Parker’s eyes could always adjust to dim lighting. Working in air ducts and enclosed spaces, her eyes were her biggest asset. Luckily there was a little bit of light peeking through a window about eight feet off the ground. No other lights were visible, even under the door to the room where she now resided. Her head hurt fiercely, just as her stomach threatened to lose whatever contents were still there, which wasn’t much. They’d fed her a little, just enough to keep her alive she concluded. She really couldn’t remember much. Must be drugged. That sucked.

Nate wasn’t nearby, that was for sure. She’d smell him. Even without the aftershave he always wore, he still smelled like Nate. That was always a comfort, even when they wouldn’t be able to shower for days on end. She often wondered if he had the same sense of smell that she did. No matter. She didn’t even know if he was still alive, but hope was always there. 

The clang on the other side of the room brought focus her eyes adjusting to the almost absence of light. That corner was darker than the rest of the room, if just because it was the furthest from the outside. Once it was daybreak, she’d be able to tell better what was going on.

Parker wondered how they did it. One moment she was snuggled into Nate’s embrace, the next moment she was all woozy and handcuffed to a bed. At one point, she thought she’d been hooked to an IV, forced to eat. It was all so vague. 

She’d have to find something to be able to pick the lock. It would be easy to explore once she did. Shaking her head to get the cobwebs cleared, she patted and felt around her until she realized that she had a few bobby pins in the pocket of her pants. They must have not found them when searching her because she was certain they did search. Everything else was gone. They wouldn’t have found them anyway unless they knew her well.

A scrape brought her eyes back to the dark corner of the room. Was that a moan? Shit, what or who did they put in her room? It had to be human.

“Bloody hell,” she heard the figure whisper.

As quickly as she could, she had the cuffs off and dangling down the side of the bed. Her head still swam, but she’d have to deal with that later. It was time to make her exit.

“Just tell me where we are,” the figure whispered.

Ok, male, British, going by the accent. She saw movement finally like the figure was now sitting up in the bed where he lay mere moments before.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Not like you could.”

The man snorted at her comment. He must like sarcasm.

“Do you have an idea where we are?”

“Even if I did, why would I tell you?”

“Possibly to get us out of here?”

Nate always got angry with her when she answered a question with a question. The man on the bed sounded a lot like him, even with the accent. A sharp pain flowed through her when she thought of Sophie. She missed her voice.

“You want out?”

“I most certainly don’t want to sit here and die, now do I?”

Why would they die? Did he know more than she did?

“Dying not so much fun.”

As quietly as she could, she stepped over to where he was handcuffed to his bed. Hmm, she thought. Same predicament. Could be a trap? He could be a plant.

“I can see you.”

“I can see you too, person who is handcuffed to the bed.”

“How on earth did you get those off?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Just get me out of these.”

The man seemed to be a little shorter than Eliot but didn’t have the bulk the hitter had. It looked like maybe he had blondish hair, but not as blonde as hers. She watched him like a hawk as she picked the lock on the handcuffs.

“Handy to know how to do.”

“Yeah.”

He stood up next to her, almost collapsing as he did.

“Still woozy?” she asked.

“Must be whatever they administered to keep us quiet.”

“Now what?”

Not like she’d let this guy lead, but she wanted to see what he would say.

“God if I know. I do believe we need to escape before they come back.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“Convoy I was in was attacked. That’s the last thing I remember. How about you?”

Did she tell him that the last thing she remembered was being ripped from her lover’s arms while they both slept? Maybe she’d gotten up, it was all so vague. Nate was probably frantic just about now, wondering what had happened to her. She hoped he didn’t lose it or kill anyone in the process of trying to find her, unless absolutely necessary.

“Holed up in a farmhouse. I was asleep. I don’t know what happened next.”

What if Nate was somewhere close? What if she couldn’t find him or they had killed him when they took her?

“Why’d they take me? And you? I’m just a girl.”

“They must need you for something. I do know why they took me, by the way. Do you have a name?”

“Parker. Just Parker.”

The man turned his head a little like he was assessing her just by her name.

“John.”

“Nice to meet you, John. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Attempting to find someone.”

“Yeah, well, kinda hard right now. Someone decided they didn’t like the way the Midwest looked. Possibly New York too. I never got the story out of Nate what happened there.”

“Who’s Nate?”

“My boss. My friend too. He was with me. Do you think they brought him here? I want to find him. I’m afraid he might get in trouble.”

“Get in trouble? It seems the two of us are in enough trouble as it is.”

“He tends to do that. Get in trouble, I mean. Throws punches, gets shot. Gloats when we win.”

John gaped at her like she was an alien.

“What did you say you did before all the chaos?”

“What did you do?

“You’re avoiding.”

“Pretty much.”

“So?”

“I help people.”

John found his footing, coming closer to her. Since they were basically almost the same height (he just a tiny bit shorter), he looked her directly in the eyes.

“It wasn’t a coincidence that I was brought here. What kind of help, if I may ask?”

She’d give him the company spiel and see if he would back down. She really wanted to get the hell out of there and fast.

“Maybe we should talk and run. What’ll you say?”

“You could be a plant, someone to get me to talk.”

“So, could you.”

“Fair enough.”

“I am CEO and co-owner of Leverage Incorporated, based in Portland. If Portland exists anymore.”

“It does. It’s amazing what you can do with a military presence.”

Parker sighed in relief. Many of her friends in Portland hopefully survived. Well, what few friends she had. 

“How?”

“I’ll explain later. Leverage Incorporated? Never heard of it.”

“Nope.”

“You fly under the radar? Most people don’t know how to get out of handcuffs with a bobby pin in seconds flat.”

“Little skill I picked up.”

“You’re not going to talk.”

“Why should I?”

“Because if we don’t get out of here, this whole thing is going to fall apart. He’s probably going to tear up half of North Dakota just to find me.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind. Got any ideas?”

“Give me a boost to that window and I’ll see if I can open it.”

Standing on his shoulders, Parker couldn’t open the window. It was fixed, glass unbreakable. Hanging by her fingers, she pulled herself up so that she looked out over the compound, and it looked like military.

“Military compound by the looks of it. I don’t see any patrols, which might be a good thing if we can figure out how to escape. Minimal lighting. Enough places to hide.”

Parker jumped down, landing lightly on her feet.

“What did you say your company did?”

“We help people.”

“How?”

She wanted to tell him that they helped people by stealing things back for them, that they were the bad guys, but not that bad. It seemed like ages ago since Nate had met them next to Pierson Aviation to steal those plans. It really wasn’t that long ago, no more than ten years. It seemed like forever. 

“This and that.”

“I’ll bet.”

She figured he knew she wasn’t exactly a goody two shoes. That’s why he kept asking her questions. Are there good criminals?

Putting her ear to the door, Parker listened for outside movement, hoping that they’d be able to get out of wherever they were quietly. No sense in getting anyone to chase them if they could help it. They had no idea where they were much less how to get help.

“You haven’t seen anyone else, have you?”

“Not since someone shoved a gun into my back. It’s all blurry after that. And the head wound.”

“Sorry.”

Parker looked over the door, trying to figure out how to get out of there. Three locks in place, all looked to be state of the art, but easily pickable by her. Using two bobby pins, the first lock was done in seconds. The second and third took a bit more time though. This just seemed too easy, she surmised. Why would there be locks on the inside and outside? Where she could easily pick them and get out?

“I need something thin, to fit through the edge of the door.”

Both she and John looked around, finally finding a piece of blank paper behind one of the beds. Parker slid it into the cracks along the door, hoping not to find what she just found.

“It’s booby-trapped.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. That’s why these locks are so easy to break through.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“We can both wait and see who shows up to kill us, or we break out of here. Your choice.”

“Booby trap?”

“If we can get the pins out of the door, then maybe we can possibly pull this off.”

“Huh?”

Parker managed to get the pins out of the door. It took considerable force, but they came out finally. No one must have heard the racket she made because no one came running. 

“Whatever is rigged is triggered by the doorknob. Turn the knob and pull, it activates whatever trap is set. No doorknob, no trigger. At least I hope no trigger. Here goes nothing.”

Swinging it open slightly, Parker eyed the device taped against the door. This bomb, and yes it was a bomb, had a failsafe built in so that whoever wanted to open it could disarm it quickly and safely. Flipping the switch, Parker sighed in relief. 

“Ok, I think we’re good.

“Are you sure?”

Parker eyed the door situation again just to be doubly sure they could open it all the way. Running her hands all over, she could find nothing else that could hurt them.

“Let’s do this.”

“Americans and their impatience.”

Parker snorted just a little, remembering how Sophie would get with her. Parker wanted to get things done quickly. Sophie wanted to savor the con, roll around in it, play dress up. Parker wanted to crack the safe and be done.

Parker replaced the pins and opened the door. They wanted to make it look like they were still in there just in case a patrol came around.

“Did you see any cameras in the room?” she asked John, knowing that she didn’t see any, but it always was good to double check.

“Not that I know of.”

Resetting the bomb, they made their way down the darkened corridor. There were no other closed doors, so Parker took the opportunity to glance in each one of them just in case. There was no way she could tell if Nate was there or not. Her senses told her no, that he wasn’t around. 

She certainly hoped that he wasn’t there. It would take all her energy just to escape. She’d think later about the who’s and the why’s. Putting her finger to her lips, she glanced around the corner, not spotting anyone. No cameras anywhere, but they possibly would not work anymore unless the equipment was new, so that was a slight advantage.

“You think one of them will start?”

They’d made it as far as the trucks. If they could start one, it would make traveling a lot faster.

“Very good possibility that their electronics are fried. The vehicles in my caravan had been brought in from Canada.”

They both leaned against the truck, wanting to think of another way to escape. Eliot or Nate could have thought of a way out of there. Parker’s brain was scrambled from whatever drugs they’d given her.

“There must be a story.”

“Unfortunately, there is. We must escape though. I will not be used as leverage.”

Parker giggled a little at the use of the word. She wondered who and what this guy was. He must be important to someone. So, why’d they kidnap her? If it was to use leverage against Nate, they obviously didn’t know Nate very well. Or maybe they did. How could they? And who were they in the first place?

“It would help if you told me who kidnapped us.”

“Rival faction. Freelancers. Definitely not the government.”

Parker looked at him strangely.

“I’ve told you too much as it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I haven't written John in ages and I wrote this ages ago. Hope he's not too OOC here.


	5. Nate's Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate is ready to go back and find Parker, no matter the consequences. An old friend appears to try and stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, more character introductions.

Chapter Five—Nate’s Ready

Nate was ready to break out of his prison. He’d eaten, cleaned up, and stockpiled as much food and essentials as he could carry in his backpack. After exploiting the holes he found in their security system, he’d slip out in the middle of the night. 

Keeping his head down, he walked down the corridor to grab his pack. It was very late, everyone had eaten and gone to sleep. Now was his chance, to go back and see if Parker had been buried while he had slept on. He just hoped that it was a ruse, something to throw him off what was really going on. No one would talk to him at all about anything, especially what was happening where he was being held.

The backpack was heavy, but he’d manage. It contained anything he could think of and steal in a week’s time. With no moonlight that night, it would make it easier for him to slip by the patrols outside.

The breathing on the other side of the room had him stopping in his tracks. Dammit. He’d screwed up. Someone was on to him.

“Hello, Nate.”

More swear words that could possibly come out of his mouth just flowed through his mind. How had this happened? What were the odds? His gun was out and aimed in the direction of the sound.

“Son of a bitch.”

Sterling clicked a light on for dramatic effect. Always with the drama, Nate thought.

“Figured you’d be happy to see me.”

Nate glared at him but somewhere in the back of his mind, he was happy to see the jerk.

“I have to go.”

Maybe Sterling would let him go.

“Go? Where? Not like it’s safe outside these walls.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Where are the rest of them?”

Nate’s hand rested on the doorknob to the room, shocked at the question. He really didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to explain to Sterling that the rest of his crew, his family, were gone.

Nate stowed the gun behind his back. As he turned to look Sterling in the eyes, the man’s eyes widened, realizing without words what had happened.

“What happened?” Sterling asked, choosing his words wisely.

“I have to find Parker.”

“She’s still alive?”

Nate leaned his forehead against the door, sighing as he did.

“I hope so.”

“Sophie, Eliot, Hardison.”

Nate shook his head no. Even hearing their names felt like a stab to the heart.

“I’m, I’m sorry, Nate. How’d it get so fucked up?”

“EMP bombs tend to do that.”

Whoever had set those bombs had blown out half the electrical system of the United States. Millions had died, millions had suffered. Then came the fighting.

“Where’s Parker?”

“I wish I knew.”

“I’ll help. In any way I can.”

Sterling would help him? This world really had gone crazy.

“Why?”

“Nate, do you have to ask?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Trust. It all came down to trust. Why should he trust his friend from so long ago? Of course, Sterling had let him go, after stealing the black book in Portland. That didn’t matter anymore. No one would be going after CEOs and bankers any time soon.

“You can’t travel at night. Too dangerous.”

“I’ll find my way.”

“Will you just listen to me? I’ll get a team out there, find out what in hell happened to her. You just have to be patient.”

Patient? Did Sterling just tell him to be patient?

“Parker could be dying, and you tell me to be patient?”

“There’s so much more going on here at the moment.”

“I’m going on my own.”

“The hell you are.”

Nate pulled the door open, yanking the backpack on as he did. He was not going to let Sterling have the upper hand. Sterling never cared about his team, he only cared about himself.

Nate heard a shout as he strode down the corridor, but he ignored it completely, set on his mission to discover what in hell happened to Parker. 

“Sterling,” was all Nate could hear. The man’s voice was deep, booming and very, very pissed off.

Nate chuckled a little, knowing how that felt. Sterling was often on the receiving end of Eliot’s fists flying or Nate’s biting comments. Anger for Jim Sterling was very, very real.

“These satellite images are too old.”

Nate stopped in his tracks. They had satellite images? What the hell? How was he getting satellite images? Nate had assumed things like these were destroyed in the attacks. His brain started working, churning through data that had been buried for a long time. If they had any kind of satellite images, he could figure out what happened to Parker. There was no way she just walked away from that farmhouse. The job was too clean, too scrubbed.

Turning around, he walked directly toward the man that had yelled at Sterling for more satellite images.

He watched as Sterling rolled his eyes at the man behind him.

“Sterling, I need access to that satellite, now.”

“Nate, you are not in the position.”

“Not before you get me those new images,” the other man started. “How do you expect me to work with these? I work with bloody idiots.”

Instead of listening to the man, Nate dropped his pack and slammed Sterling up against the wall. A forearm to his throat had him struggling to breathe.

“Satellite?”

“If I’d known that a bit of violence was going to work, I would have tried that a long time ago.”

Nate let up on Sterling’s neck as his face started to turn blue.

“I’ll have you arrested.”

“You could just snap his neck and be done with it. Images?” the man pointed to Sterling.

Sterling coughed until he could talk again. “There’s more at stake, Nate, than just Parker.”

The other man really didn’t seem to care if Nate beat Sterling to a bloody pulp. He kept waving the papers in front of them.

“American. Good. Maybe you can help me operate the damn thing. No one seems to know anything about anything around here. Come on.”

The man, about the same height and build as Nate, waved him on, like he actually wanted Nate’s help. If that would get him to the images from the last week or so, then he’d go wherever the man wanted him.

“Nate, you’re not authorized to be in a secure area.”

“I’m authorizing him, or whatever needs to be done,” the man told Sterling as he started to walk away.

“You can’t do that.”

Nate looked at the man. The man looked right back at him and smirked. Oh, how he wished that Sophie was beside him, assessing the man. He could hear her voice, describing how much she’d love to run her fingers through his hair, just like she did his. And she thought his curls were sometimes crazy? It was the blue-green of the man’s eyes that made him unique. Like the man had seen too much in his years. Who the hell was he?

“American, early fifties. You’ve known our man Sterling for most of your adult life. Considered him a friend once upon a time. You went one way, he went another. Good with your hands. You picked the lock to your room, so I assume. You’ve been outside the boundaries since this started. Lost people by the look in your eyes. There’s someone you’re looking for. I can help you find her. Come with me.”

Nate shook his head at the man’s assumptions. They were all on target, so who was he to argue?

“He’s a criminal mastermind.”

“Retired,” Nate shouted back.

“Oh. Even better,” the man answered. “Just don’t steal anything.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Holmes, if you screw this up, I swear.”

“You have a name.”

“I do indeed. This way?”

Holmes pointed to another door, opening it to lead them down another corridor.

“Nate Ford.”

“Sherlock Holmes. Criminal mastermind? Interpol. Their flights of fancy.”

“Yeah, well.”

“So, you broke the law. Haven’t we all at some point in time?”

Nate chuckled a little as Holmes opened another door. He gasped in surprise to see all the computer equipment in place, with only two people to run it. Since it was past three in the morning, the skeleton crew it was. It physically hurt to see the setup. Hardison would be smiling ear to ear.

“You got this, man,” he heard off in the distance.

“Did you say something?” Holmes asked him.

“No. Where do we get started?”

“Apparently neither one of these buffoons knows how to operate this equipment correctly.”

Nate sat at the closest computer, fingers itching to figure it all out at once.

It took him about ten minutes to pull up the surveillance that Holmes had wanted, in real time too.

“Finally, someone who knows what he’s doing.”

Instead of saying thank you, Holmes ripped the papers away and started to analyze them.

“Sterling, I need images from at least week ago. Near Fargo.”

At least the other two guys weren’t that useless and were able to provide him with the data on where the images were stored. Nate clicked through, finding the coordinates of approximately where he and Parker were in the farmhouse.

“Mind me asking what you’re looking for?”

Holmes stood directly behind him, watching as Nate clicked through image after image. Nothing. No movement at all. Thumbing back through, he went back further. Then he saw it. Why hadn’t he heard anything? Had he been drugged? 

“Nate, what the hell did you get yourself involved in?” Sterling said from his side.

A line of vehicles pulled up to the farmhouse. Nate saw at least a dozen or more people piling out, guns drawn.

“I didn’t hear a thing.”

“How?”

“I dunno.”

“You were set up apparently.”

Holmes was probably right. The operation took no longer than fifteen minutes tops. Extraction. It had to be. The place was scrubbed clean too in that amount of time. Why would anyone want Parker? And why would they do this just to take her? They could have killed Nate and taken her easily with the firepower they had.

“Apparently. Someone knew where we were.”

“And didn’t take you out. Now isn’t that fascinating,” Holmes reacted.

None of this was making sense to Nate. Someone taking Parker on purpose, him ending up at some facility, meeting Sterling again, and now this Holmes character, who probably was MI-6 or an equivalent. Operating on American soil. That must mean there was still some kind of government operation. That could be good or bad.

“What do they want her to steal, Sterling?”

“Steal?” Holmes asked, swiveling his body around to look directly at Nate.

“Could be any number of things.”

“Your companion is a thief.”

“The best there is.”

“Oh, bloody hell. Oh, John. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“John?” Nate wondered.

“Dr. John Watson. I work with him. He was in a convoy that was attacked. If they find out he’s not who he says he is. That’s what they wanted. No, no, no. Dammit, Mycroft.”

Nate had to find Parker and quick.

“They think he’s Dr. Goodwin.”

Holmes threw the papers up in the air, angry and really pissed. Nate zoomed out, pinpointing what he thought they were after. He didn’t want Sterling to know what he knew about this kind of stuff. Hardison kept up to date on these kinds of things just in case. 

“How well guarded is that bunker, Sterling?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m Interpol. Not American military.”

Sterling started to bark orders at the two other men in the room, to communicate with someone about what they’d found.

“If I had to guess, whatever is stored in that bunker is not good.”

Holmes had that right.

“Biochemical warfare. Not that they hadn’t destroyed part of the U.S. with the EMP bomb. They want to finish it off.”

Could Nate’s life suck any more than it did right then? He did not sign up for any of this shit.

“So, they want your friend Parker to break into this bunker. And then they’ll want John to weaponize what they might find.”

“Only Dr. Watson is a regular GP. Not the bioweapons expert that we so thoughtfully sent along with him.”

Sterling banged his hand against the table in frustration.

“He’s also a decorated war veteran. He will put up a fight.”

That didn’t worry Nate. It was Parker. Someone had tracked them, had known that they were in that house. How had they done that? There must be something on them, something that they carried with them.

Pushing past Holmes, Nate found his backpack sitting on the floor outside the room. Dumping it, he separated everything he’d gathered for his trip back to the farmhouse and what he’d had with him at all times. The only things he had left of his other life were those pictures and the ring. Maybe his shoes? That’s when he saw it. He almost cried as he grasped it in his hands. She’d carried it everywhere with her. As gently as he could, he felt around on the outside to see if he could tell who had placed a tracker or bug in Parker’s bunny. It was the only thing other than a few items of clothing that they had with them constantly. 

“That shouldn’t work,” Holmes said as he watched Nate probe it without ripping the thing open.

“Apparently it still does.”

“It shouldn’t. It must have been placed there after the incident.”

So that’s what the government was calling it? An incident? Global destruction on a massive scale and they still can’t call it what it was.

He certainly hoped this wasn’t why the other three had been killed. Nate knew though, deep down, that they’d been targeted from day one. That kill shot on Sophie was too good. They were attacked too many times to count. The only death he couldn’t with certainty attach to this was Eliot. He had no idea what Eliot had encountered out there, how he’d become injured in the first place. Sophie and Hardison didn’t have to die. He knew the timing of the placement of the tracker. Now all he didn’t know was why.

“I assume by your musings that you’ve pinpointed the timing. How long ago?”

It wasn’t that Nate could ever forget. The day that his life had ended as he knew it.

“Eight months, four days, five hours.”

Holmes narrowed his eyes at Nate, trying to size him up.

“That’s very specific,” he started.

Nate found the item he was looking for. With his knife, he cut open the bunny and extracted the small item. It looked to be the size of a battery. 

“It started with a supply run.”


	6. Supply Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback--the group prepares to leave the warehouse. They plan one more supply run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. When I went into planning/writing this, I knew there would be major characters dying. I've done it before in other fics. It's still not any easier. So major character death coming up, just to warn you.

Chapter Six—Supply Run

“Nate, this will work. Eliot goes in, retrieves the rest of the supplies. We are out of here before you can snap your fingers.”

Of course, Sophie was right. They hadn’t encountered much resistance. The abandoned warehouse was the ideal place to hole up until they could flee. They had lucked out. How many times had Nate chanted that in his head? Luck would have them all together when this mess started. A case in upstate New York. They needed his and Sophie’s help on this one. It was a pretty cut and dry case. The only thing they had to worry about was making their dinner reservation back in the city. Then it all went to hell. They couldn’t even gather information since the whole electrical grid was down. Cell phone towers were inoperable. Landlines worked sporadically then not at all. All they’d gotten was some kind of EMP bomb, very much like the EMP cannon that Hardison had created those many years ago. Very much like the bomb that Moreau had tried to sell to the highest bidder. 

“So, are we going or what?” Parker asked as she put her backpack on her back. 

“We have no intel, nothing.”

Hardison was right. They had no surveillance.

“We did a dry run. It’s gonna work. Eliot can retrieve that truck and we can get the hell out of dodge.”

Parker had been antsy as hell, pacing up and down the warehouse, climbing up to the rafters. 

“This will work,” Eliot guaranteed. 

Nate had already worked out in his head what they’d do if it didn’t. They needed transportation and fast. The truck they were eyeing had no electronics to speak of since it was very old. Eliot had the skills to make sure it would run. The gas might be a problem though, one that Hardison was working on.

“Eliot, there is a drugstore just across the street. Grab what you can. We have nothing right now.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Eliot reassured Sophie.

“I need to go,” Nate begged Eliot.

“You need to stay here. You and Hardison need to figure a way out of here.”

Nate was worried that something would go wrong. And of course, something did a few hours later.

Eliot and Parker left, leaving the three to finish up what needed to be done. Sophie hadn’t left his side, brushing up against him often. They hadn’t been alone in quite some time, but with Hardison distracted, Sophie took advantage if just to get a few minutes alone with her husband.

“Think this will work?” she asked him as she finished off her job of bundling the clothes they had.

“It has to. We can’t stay here anymore.”

Sophie took his hand in hers. Gone was the manicured hand of Sophie Devereaux. Her hands were callused now, nails ragged. That didn’t matter to him. What mattered was she was with him, safe and secure as they could be. As he looked down into her eyes, he saw that twinkle, much like she was those many years ago, young and carefree.

They’d been on the run for over four months at that point, scrambling to survive as much as they could. There had been many close calls, but they were all alive and intact. Once they retrieved that truck, they’d be targets for sure. But staying where they were was dangerous too. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, felt as her fingers worked under his shirt in the front. She smelled clean for once, having found that the warehouse actually had running water. They’d all indulged the night before, scrubbing and cleaning even if the water was cold and somewhat rusty in color. They’d also indulged in each other, finding a quiet corner of the warehouse. It had been weeks since they’d touched each other intimately. How he’d missed her hands wrapped around his neck, holding on. Her other hand inched up his chest, gently exploring until he was panting.

“Wasn’t last night enough?” he whispered as she bit down on his neck.

“Never enough.”

Lifting her to the table, he thrust against her, still clothed, but that didn’t matter. He felt his pants give way as Sophie unzipped him, hand down and wrapped around him.

“Not a good idea,” he groaned out.

Hardison decided to make an appearance, stopping what they’d started. It hurt to stand there looking at Sophie, so full of life. She deserved better than this. He’d keep her safe until they could find it. 

“How much time do we have left?” she asked as they stood together, waiting for Eliot and Parker to get back.

“Probably at least an hour. I just hope that truck starts.”

They’d wait until Parker and Eliot reappeared, luckily with the truck parked behind the warehouse ready to go. 

“Definitely not going to miss this place,” Hardison joked as he grabbed the last of their things.

Sophie smiled Hardison’s way, scooping up her pack. She didn’t take more than twenty steps, almost to the end of the warehouse when it happened. Nate turned at the crack of the gun, looking to see where the shot had originated. Sophie stopped, looked at him and pitched forward. She was dead before she hit the ground. He often thought he was the last thing she saw, as that bullet entered her brain, stopped it from working. He ran toward her but didn’t make it more than a few feet before being pinned down by her assassin. Both Eliot and Parker weaved in and out of the crates, trying to find the person who killed Sophie. 

“Nate,” Hardison cried out. “Move.”

Nate was in shock, watching Sophie’s body not ten feet in front of him, not moving. He’d seen the shot to her forehead, he knew she had to be dead. He didn’t want to believe it though and tried to make his way to her. He finally did when the shooter went for Hardison. He found out later that the man had done it on purpose, knowing that if Nate didn’t somehow retrieve Sophie, he’d die trying.

It only took him a few moments to confirm what his eyes had seen. 

“No, no. Soph. You can’t. I promised. You promised me.”

“Nate, we have to go,” Eliot yelled from the other side of the warehouse.

He could see Parker off in the distance, tears streaming down her face.

“She’s gone, Nate,” Hardison said from behind a box not too far from him.

Sliding her ring off her finger, he kissed her and gently placed her body on the ground. Two minutes later, he was outside, in the truck, ring held tightly in his hand, the backpack that she had been carrying beside him. He hadn’t protected her. He’d left her there to rot.


	7. Sherlock Is On The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives his opinion on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Sherlock's POV. I didn't need it until now.

Chapter Seven—Sherlock Is On The Case

He was going to kill his brother once he found him. This was all his fault. Damn the British government for thinking that Mycroft Holmes could help the American bastards. This was their mess. They needed to clean it up. It was bad enough that Great Britain had closed its borders. Instead of being a virtual island, now they indeed were an island. No one could come in, or go out, unless there was a use for that kind of nonsense, like finding one of the leaders of the British government. Low-level bureaucrat? If Sherlock could laugh, he would. 

And now John was missing. He’d promised Mary so long ago he’d keep the errant doctor safe. Sherlock couldn’t even keep that promise. Molly was going to kill him. He didn’t know which would be worse. Mary shooting him or Molly gutting him. Probably Molly. She was too good with a knife. 

When he found Mycroft, which he was more determined than ever to do, he’d take that damned umbrella and break it over his thick skull. The fact that he’d brought Anthea for protection? Sherlock would point out that only one MI-6 agent wasn’t enough. Even if she was very skilled at what she did.

Sherlock had almost suggested that he come by himself. John would not let him. One small child. There was no way he was tearing him away from Rosie when his daughter needed him the most. Molly had pointed out to him that John would not take no for an answer and he had agreed. 

So now here they were, on American soil, attempting to find Mycroft and not having a bloody clue where to start. Getting involved with them was a mistake in which he felt they would pay. Sherlock decided to help on a dangerous job of getting rid of something they didn’t quite understand in exchange for their help finding Mycroft. The Americans had lied to him and to John about the job. Now John was paying the price. Time to do things his way.

All he had to do was garner information from the man in front of him. Good lord, what a wreck he was. Ford reminded him of himself a bit. Certainly, he was older. His eyes were clouded with pain, probably from the massive destruction of half of the United States. He’d seen loved ones die in front of him. The man was a fighter though. He’d use that to find Mycroft and John.

“You think they’ve been following you this whole time?” Sterling asked the older man.

“Don’t trust him,” Mary whispered in his ear.

Ah, Sterling. James Sterling. Interpol, now MI-6. Moving up in the ranks as they say. There was history between the two men, long and deep and mostly not pleasant. They’d once been friends, Sherlock had figured out. Maybe not as close as he and John were, but friends nonetheless.

“The plans for that smart-bomb disappeared when Moreau fled. That battery. That damn battery.”

“You’re the cause of all of this?” Sherlock asked Ford.

“No, of course not. We stopped one from getting into the wrong hands. Apparently, there must have been another one. One that we did not know about. Who tagged us, Sterling?”

“Not Interpol. Of course, with no records, who knows.”

Ford clenched something tight in his fist. It must be whatever tracker he found in the stuffed animal.

“They tagged you for further research. If you’d known how to dismantle the other bomb, then you’d know things about it if it was needed.”

“We just blew the damn thing up. Well, the battery blew up. Overloaded it with a taser. But yeah, Hardison would know how to build another one. From memory.”

“He saw the schematics?” Sterling inquired.

Nate shook his head yes.

“And painted a target on his back. I assume that the shooter missed?”

“Holmes,” Sterling warned.

“Possibly. I don’t know. Eight months.”

Sherlock could tell that the older man was tense now. Maybe where his questioning lay was a bit not good as John would say. He needed to know what had transpired in the last eight months. They were the key to possibly solving this mystery. If he had to push, he would.

“There were five of you. From what little Sterling has finally told me, you were all the best at what you did, even if it were on the other side of the law. You were the brains of the operation. I assume your companion that is missing stole things for a living. I once attempted to solve a robbery of the Louvre. Know anything about that?”

Nate just shrugged his shoulders. 

“Moving on. Their skill sets were unique, I gather. You’d have someone to get you in and out of situations, possibly with computer knowledge, someone to create new identities, new faces, scrub everything clean once a job was completed. You’d need some muscle, someone who was skilled in combat. The people you dealt with were sometimes dangerous. A one-man wrecking crew as it were. Then you’d need someone who could actually work their way inside, retrieve any kind of information about your mark.”

Nate glared at him but stayed silent.

“She’d have to be skilled at manipulation, know how to work a room and disappear with a moment’s notice.”

“Grifter, hitter, hacker, thief,” Sterling concluded.

“Which made you the brains of the operation. How much did you steal?”

“Oh, they didn’t steal things to keep them. It was to help people. Well, mostly unless you don’t count Dubenich.”

“You knew about that?” Nate asked Sterling as he rose from the floor.

“You’d be amazed what I knew about. The man needed to be taken down. So, you made a little money on the side.”

“Thirty-two million.”

Sherlock looked at the man like he was crazy. Who could make that much money on a simple heist?”

“A piece.”

Sterling choked on his coffee.

“Sophie Devereaux.”

The name came to him at once. Who else would Ford have used as a grifter? She was a genius, which was why Sherlock never caught her.

What he didn’t count on was Ford coming for him, slamming him against the wall with his forearm directly placed under his chin. If he moved a mere inch, Ford would do some damage to his trachea.

“What do you know?”

“Not as much as you do about some things, but a bit more now that I’ve met you.”

“Quit speaking in riddles.” Ford let up a bit so that Sherlock could talk.

“Not my intent. I know of her. Tried catching her on several occasions. I’d heard she was out of the game, so I stopped trying. You apparently hired her, picked her up for your little game.”

If looks could kill, then Sherlock would be dead right about then. Nathan Ford was someone in which he did not want to tangle. Sure, he was sort of a good guy, a Robin Hood type of man, who thought he was doing good in his small corner of the world.

“How long?”

“Excuse me?”

“How long were you married to her?”

“He is going to kill you if you don’t stop talking,” Sterling pointed out from behind Sherlock.

Maybe Sterling might help him out if Ford were to start pummeling him. Or maybe not by the look in his eyes also.

“Two years, six days before…”

Ford let him go then. Molly often said he spoke without thinking, without feeling sometimes. She’d been on the end of that too many times to count. He was learning though, learning that to observe sometimes was the better way to handle things. People gave one all sorts of information if you just observed. He missed less when he did observe. The man in front of him didn’t miss a thing usually. They were two of a kind.

“What did you miss?”

“The attacks were not random. I knew. There was just nothing I could do about them.”

“Always something. I am sorry, about your wife and the others.”

Would this be what he’d be like if all his friends and family were taken away from him? Would Sherlock shut down, become some angry, broken man on the verge of giving up?

“Your companion? A thief? She must be good.”

“She’s a survivor.”

Sherlock watched as Ford twisted his ring on his finger. He’d never taken off his wedding ring.

“You have to find her. I need to find my brother and Dr. Watson. Let’s hope they are all in one place. Might make it a bit easier if they are.”

“Your brother?”

“He’s the British government or something like that. I never know which.”

Sterling looked at him like he’d grown two heads. Ford just laughed.

“Sophie once thought she was the Duchess of Hanover. She could have pulled off being the Queen of England. Never got around to it.”

“Duchess of Hanover?” Sherlock inquired. 

He knew exactly who she was right at that moment. That’s how she acquired the information she had needed from his client. What if he told Ford that his wife could have possibly been royalty? For another time and another place. It didn’t matter to him. She was long gone. They had a job to do. Well, two jobs. One was retrieving their people and two was saving the world from idiots, again.

Sherlock came around when he noticed Sterling snapping his fingers in front of his face.

“Well, we should be off now. The game is on.”

Ford glared at him, the look of murder in his blue eyes.

“If I find out that either one of you had anything to do with taking Parker or killing the rest of my people, you both will die.”

Sterling shook his head. Sherlock wondered if the man in front of him could indeed commit murder in cold blood. He knew he could if it had to do with his friends or family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to do a comparison of Nate's character and Sherlock's character. There are a lot of similarities/parallels. They both are the smartest people in the room and care deeply about the people around them. And are sometimes assholes about it all. We still love them as characters though.


	8. Parker and John Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker thinks that their escape was just way too easy. John concurs.

Chapter Eight—Parker and John Bond

The truck gave out a mere twenty miles from where they had been kidnapped. Or was it where they had been taken? Parker couldn’t figure out the lay of the land since she really didn’t know where they’d started. No GPS, no phone, no Hardison. Dammit, no Nate in her head telling her what to do. She was all on her own. The man by her side seemed a bit useless. She just couldn’t tell at the moment.

At least it wasn’t as cold. Not like she could look it up on her phone to see the weather forecast.

“Know where we are?”

“No. North Dakota? Fuck,” she sighed.

“We need to hide this vehicle. They’ll be looking for us.”

It was too easy to escape. Way too easy. 

“I need you to do something for me. There’s gotta be a tracker somewhere. That was too easy.” Parker never got away this easily from anything.

“I thought it was just wishful thinking.”

“You too?”

“Yep. Here, you know what you’re looking for. Have at it.”

“Anywhere sore?”

“Everywhere.”

Parker looked up and down his arms. No sutures. Puncture wounds from the IVs they’d apparently been given.

“Back?” she asked.

John pulled up his shirt. There it was, directly in the middle of his back, off to one side. It would be impossible to get out on your own. Dammit was all she could think. 

“Let me find yours so I can tell you how deep.”

John probed her back, finding hers in almost the exact same spot.

“Not too deep. Once it’s out, it might need a stitch or two.”

“No stitches. Sorry.”

They did manage to find a few old bandaids in the truck’s glove compartment. And a small knife.

“It’s rusty.”

John cleaned it off the best he could.

“Let’s walk. Maybe there’s some water around here?”

They walked for at least an hour before hearing running water.

“That’ll do.”

He cleaned the knife off in the cold water. Taking some of the snow that was packed up against a tree, he placed it on her back if just to numb it a bit. It didn’t work, but she didn’t flinch since he had a knife to her back.

“What kind of doctor are you?” Parker asked, trying to ignore the pain in her back as he tried to stop the flow of blood.

“General. Trained in London. Saw action in Afghanistan.”

“Oh. Hmm.”

“So yes, I am trained in combat, if that’s what you’re asking. I can use a gun and can throw a mean punch when I want.”

“So, you’ve seen war?”

She looked back around into his eyes.

“Yes,” was all he answered, a far-off look. “Didn’t think I’d see it again any time soon either.”

“Me either. It sucks.”

“Most definitely.”

“My friends. I just wish.”

“You’re alone now?”

“No. Nate. I have to find Nate.”

He pushed her shirt down carefully, bandaid in place.

“Who is Nate?”

“My friend. I mean, he’s my boss. I mean, dammit, was my boss. He retired.”

“Older then?”

“A little bit older.”

Parker lifted his shirt and proceeded to repeat exactly what he’d done. He never flinched.

“Your boss?” John asked.

“Mastermind.”

“What was it you said you did, you know, before?”

“Stole from the rich and gave to the poor?”

“Seriously?” John questioned.

“Seriously. Well, that’s a simplification. But yeah.”

Parker had almost stopped the bleeding when John spoke again.

“So, you ran cons on people to steal their money?”

“Not just money. Other stuff. Like this one time, there was this guy who thought he was a loan shark. Moved in on our territory, in Boston. From Ireland. We just happened to stumble on him. He was trying to take Cora’s bar. Oh, Cora.”

Parker stopped, hoping that Cora had survived. If anyone had, she would if just by sheer strength of character.

“So, we conned him, got all the money back and gave everyone on his list the money he extorted from them. Easy peasy. And Nate broke a few of his fingers.”

Parker smiled at that. She was glad Nate had done that. The others were a bit shocked, but Parker wasn’t. The bastard deserved it.

“What are you, the mob?”

“Nah. Although Nate’s dad was.”

“Oh. Not sure I want to know the rest.”

“We skirted the law a few times.”

“Sounds like you broke the law all the time.”

“Pretty much.”

“And you were never caught?”

“A few times. Nate always had a plan to get us out. Until he messed up with Sterling. Got shot. He tends to do that. That’s why I need to find him.”

John grabbed his shoulder instinctively.

“You too? Shot I mean?”

“Just once.”

“Three times, in the shoulder. Nate never learned how to duck. Sophie’s fault once. I guess that doesn’t count. Once in the gut too. That one almost killed him.”

“This is your boss? At least Sherlock…” John trailed off like he was remembering something. “My friend almost died. An assassin.”

“Wow. Here I thought my life was interesting and full of danger.”

“With Sherlock Holmes, you never know what you might see next.”

Dammit, dammit, dammit. She should have known. It was too good to be true. If he led her back to Holmes, he’d arrest her or something. Maybe not? Maybe he didn’t know what she looked like?

“He’s your partner?”

“Partner as in working, yes. I’m married. Have a daughter.”

Something she’d never have or ever wanted.

“Where is he? Sherlock Holmes, I mean?”

“Don’t have any earthly idea. We were here to find his brother.”

The knife in her hand shook. She didn’t want to use it against him, but for the last ten years, she had only trusted four other people in this world, and three of them were now dead. How could she trust this man? Was he a plant? Was he leading her to her doom? If she did encounter Holmes, would they take her away so she couldn’t find Nate?

“You know, if you were going to use that knife by now, you would have.”

Parker closed her eyes, pulling the knife toward her just in case.

“No matter what you’ve done, I don’t think Sherlock is going to arrest you if that is what you’re thinking.”

“No, no. Of course not. Why should I?” she said as she folded the knife away.

“Because people usually chatter away about Sherlock Holmes or they get mighty quiet. The ones that get quiet are usually the ones that are guilty.”

“Maybe I’ve encountered him a time or two.”

“Obviously never caught you.”

“Not good enough.”

John actually laughed at that.

“He didn’t catch you? Oh, that’s just wonderful.”


	9. Nate Pokes A Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate tries to turn the tables on Sherlock to gain the upper hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times had Nate done something stupid by poking people when they shouldn't be poked? Sophie's not there to reel him in.

Chapter Nine—Nate Pokes A Bear

Nate needed the man’s help but didn’t want to use him. He wanted to find Parker, find a hiding place and never come out. Canada sounded better and better.

“The Canadian border is tighter now with the wall they’ve erected and troops. Lots and lots of troops.”

Nate had wondered how they were attempting to keep people out. And how did he know what Nate was thinking? Time to turn the tables. At least they were now going back to the farmhouse. Holmes wanted to look at the scene of the crime. It would give Nate time to get under the man’s skin. He had already annoyed Holmes in the last few hours as it was.

“How long have you been married?” Nate turned his head to the side, looking Holmes up and down. He’d make him squirm, just like Holmes did to him back at the base.

“What makes you think…”

“Not long, I think. Less than a year. She’s gotta be able to keep up with you and not be offended when you open your mouth, so probably a professional of some sort. You met her on the job, work with her.”

Nate could see the way Holmes’s eyes shifted just enough to give him a clue. And his chin came up slightly. Most people thought they could hide their emotions. Holmes was quite good at hiding it, but Nate was better, definitely learning from the best. His now deceased wife had taught him well over the years.

“Can’t be a lawyer because you think they’re all corrupt. Not police. Too inept. Doctor? Probable. And if you do work with the government and you’d have to with what you’re doing here, I’d say either, no, she’s either an emergency room doctor or a pathologist, isn’t she? Fits.”

His eyes twitched when Nate figured it out. 

“You don’t play by the rules, Mr. Holmes, and neither do I. You have few friends, but the ones you do you protect to the point of …” Nate hesitated when he saw Holmes’s jaw clench just a bit. “Who did you kill?”

The fist flying his way was expected, he just thought the man would wait until they stopped at their next destination. His elbow found Holmes’s nose quickly. They both were thrown forward when the vehicle they were in stopped suddenly.

“Stop,” Nate heard someone say, but neither did.

Holmes pushed him out the nearest door, landing on top of him. The breath left him, leaving Nate at a disadvantage. Kicking with all his might, he managed to throw the man off. Here he thought Holmes was just a lightweight. He certainly weighed more than Nate did. Nate came to his feet fast since he knew if he didn’t Holmes would take advantage of his position.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sterling called, but not getting into the middle of it.

“I did what I had to do.”

Nate was brought up short. How many times had he thought that in the past ten years? 

Too many innocent people had died over the last two years. They never hurt innocent people, although not all the jobs that Leverage took were successful. 

Nate quickly went through all that he knew of any deaths in England in the past five years. It had to be something significant, it had to be. Sophie always kept him up to date on these things. One incident stuck in his mind. The look of glee on her face when she found out that one person had died would never be forgotten.

“He deserved to die,” he could hear her say.

Just then she whispered it in his ear again, like it was yesterday and not two and a half years ago.

“Magnussen.” Holmes was ready to blow up, he could tell. “Don’t worry. He was on my list too. The man was evil.”

Holmes shook his head in agreement.

“Information broker. I had a case. Never got around to it. Someone contacted me. I was out of the game and passed it on to my colleagues.”

“Mary,” was all that Holmes said. “He was a bastard.”

Nate had no idea who Mary was, but from the look on Holmes’s face, she was important to him.

“I assumed. You executed him.”

Holmes moved toward him again.

“How? That was scrubbed clean.”

“Not clean enough.”

“Your computer geek?”

“Among other things. Parker dropped it. No sense in pursuing since you took care of it.”

“Anything else about me?”

Nate wanted to tell him that there actually was more that Nate knew about Sherlock Holmes, but his side was aching from hitting the ground hard. No sense in ticking the guy off even more.

“No more hitting. My bones are so brittle, you might break something next time.”

“Agreed.”

The man was still not on his side, but maybe he respected Nate a little more. He knew more about Holmes, like whom his brother was for example. He’d spring that on Holmes if need be. If his brother was still alive, which Nate doubted.

“Let’s go. We’re wasting daylight.”

Sterling was right. He didn’t want to be outside at night. Bad things happened at night.


	10. Sherlock's Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock attempts to retreat to his mind palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally to Sherlock's POV. Spoilers through season four of Sherlock. Oh, I also changed a bit of what happened. So a bit AU too.

Chapter Ten—Sherlock’s Hell

He was hallucinating. He must be hallucinating. Too much in his system. Too much, too much. Retreating to his mind palace would bring balance. He had to solve this.

“I told ya, Shezza, too much.”

“Go away, Wiggins.”

“You bastard,” John shouted in his face.

“You promised, William. You promised.”

No, Mother. I did not promise. I’d never promise.

“Oh, Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson looked at him with disdain. “Why, dear, why?”

“You lied.”

“So, did you, Mary. Remember that.”

“I had good reason.”

“So, did I. So did I.”

They all swam around him, their faces too close, making his head hurt.

“Say you’re sorry.”

He’d say he was sorry a million times if he could just make them understand.

“Say you’re sorry to your friends.”

“But you don’t understand. I have to.”

“Go to hell, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s hell was different from everyone else’s. His was where all his friends finally abandoned him, told him he was worthless.

“Please, please. I’m so sorry. Don’t go,” he pleaded with them all. “Molly, please don’t go.”

Molly’s face swam in his vision, ponytail swinging as her eyes bored into his. They were black, blown wide, almost like Moriarty’s were when he tried to blow John and Sherlock up.

“Cocked it up, mate,” John said in the background.

“It was for you.”

John shook his head no.

“Just an excuse.”

“I give you weeks.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Molly. It doesn’t matter.”

Molly shook him by his coat lapels.

“It does matter. It matters to me,” she whispered in his ear.

“But John,” he cried out.

“Is here,” John answered.

“Look at me. Look at me when you die.”

His eyes fill with water. He can’t stop it. He can’t stop Culverton Smith from killing him. John will be too late.

“I don’t want to die.”

“Again.”

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

Sherlock screamed, clawed at Smith, tried to breathe.

“Isn’t it a good day to die?” Moriarty grinned.

“I’m sorry, brother dear. I am so sorry.”

“You look like you need a drink.”

Waking up, Sherlock grabbed his arm, tensing his fist. More than a drink, much more than just a drink. He wouldn’t tell that to the man sitting down across from him in the cold room.

“How’d you know? It’s been what, months?”

Did he tell Ford all his theories about why the body in the newly dug grave could be his own brother? Dammit, Mycroft. Why?

“He’s been missing almost four months.”

Dead. He can’t be? Sherlock was certain that he’d die before his brother. Except now there was Eurus, who indeed was still incarcerated. She could kill him. She could certainly do the job. But no, this was not her exacting revenge.

“He’s been dead for a while,” Ford finished his thought. “I’m sorry.”

“Mycroft at best was a pain in the literal arse, given to fits when it came to my safety. And I could not provide the same.”

“You said he came out here, without you.”

Sherlock could remember the conversation that he’d had with Mycroft the day he left. The fact that the American and Canadian governments needed his help, only his help. It must have been a setup. It had to be. Sherlock had warned him. Mycroft gave him a lift of the eyebrow and left with his umbrella in his hand. 

“Why? If he was that important, why would he come here?”

In addition to grieving, Sherlock had been working on that issue too. Why indeed? His brother hardly ever went into the field. He usually sent his best agents, or Sherlock if need be.

“Work the problem,” Mycroft told him as he stood in front of the detective. “Why was I here? And don’t take that weasel Sterling’s word for it. I don’t trust him. Don’t trust him.”

“Do you trust Sterling?” Sherlock asked the older man.

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

Now could Sherlock trust the man sitting across the room? The farmhouse was cold, devoid of life except for them on the second floor, and their guards and escort on the first floor. Ten of them in all. It had been too late to travel back to base, so the suggestion of staying until daylight was a good one. Or at least he thought so until looking at Ford. Ford looked to be on alert like he was ready to bolt at the least provocation.

“Trust him if you want. I’d say better him than those men downstairs.”

Mary, oh dear Mary. Oh, how he missed her council. She had stayed in England. John had deemed it too dangerous. Only one of them could come. Rosie deserved at least one parent alive when all this was said and done.

“Too quiet,” Ford whispered. “Too quiet.”

The man was right. It had become eerily quiet in the last few moments. Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace, to figure out what had happened to his brother. 

Ford moved like a man being hunted. Just like Sherlock had moved those two years he was after Moriarty’s web. Just like that.

“Time to go,” Ford said as he quietly opened a window opposite of the long driveway.

“You trust me?”

Why would the man trust anyone? Sherlock had only trusted Mycroft when he was in deep, to get him out. Now that was gone. His brother was gone. He’d mourn later. John was now the goal. John.

Slipping out, it didn’t take them long to climb down without being seen. Sherlock had taken it upon himself to change into appropriate gear instead of a suit and his Belstaff. Luckily, he had. Ford was not going to slow down for anything.


	11. Slow Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts to connect some dots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV. Too short a chapter though. This is the chapter where I ended it for a long time. I was totally stuck. I think it sat for almost a year right here actually in the middle of the chapter. So satisfying to push through the block.

Chapter Eleven—Slow Down

“Slow down. We have no idea where we are going.”

John’s legs were so tired. The girl, Parker, just didn’t stop for anything. John did. He wasn’t used to this much activity, even though Sherlock certainly did give him a run for his money.

They stuck close to the road where they’d abandoned the truck, but not too close just in case. If they traveled too far into the forest, there was no way they’d find their way out. Plus, since they had no food, they’d starve to death. He had no idea how to operate in the wilderness.

“Well, we gotta find some food and quick. Not sure I can catch anything with just a knife.”

John’s reflexes were also slowing down without nourishment.

“Get down,” Parker whispered, jerking John down by the arm. “Thought I recognized where we were.”

“Want to clue me in?”

Before she could tell him, two trucks raced by very fast.

“There’s a farmhouse up ahead. By the looks of it though, not a good place to be.”

John lay back on the hard ground and looked up at the stars. These weren’t the same stars he could see at home.

“Definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

“No, we’re in North Dakota. Geez, you British guys have no idea of geography.”

John chuckled quietly. She so obviously did not get the joke.

“Movement, off to our side, 3 o’clock.”

Parker just shook her head at him, knowing that indeed they may have to do just that to survive.

“Well, we need food and weapons if we are going to somehow get out of here.”

It didn’t take them long to catch up with the two who looked to be some kind of guard or military. They seemed to be looking for something, but John figured it was safer to just take them out than to ask questions. Parker was efficient and cleaned both out of whatever they were carrying in mere seconds. She shouldered the gun like it was a second skin. Now that should have scared him. 

“If there are two…” he suggested.

“There will be more. Let’s move.”

Gesturing him down, they hunched behind a large log to look at the house. Parker had taken a pair of binoculars from one of the guys, so it made it much easier to see what was going on.

“Holy fuck, he’s like a cockroach.”

“Who?”

“Sterling. Bad guy. Well, sort of bad guy except he works for Interpol. All around asshole. Why would Interpol be here?”

“Looking for Mycroft?”

“Who?”

“Long story. Part of the reason I’m here. None of this is making much sense.”

“War. People dead. Someone wants to finish the job or take control. How could it get much simpler than that?”

Something else was at work here. This woman, the reason why he was taken at gunpoint, had to add up to something bigger than just attempting to find Mycroft Holmes. 

Parker froze, body tense. Turning her head slowly, she pointed to the brush off to their right. Something or someone was on their tail. It wasn’t just an animal rustling for their dinner. Were there more patrols out?

As quietly as they could, John and Parker surveyed the scene, deciding that it might be in their best interests to steer clear of the area and come back when it was deemed safe. He could tell that Parker was agitated at his suggestion that they play it safe. Her companion, the person she called Nate, could be down there. They didn’t have the firepower or the numbers to confront whoever was in the farmhouse. A plan needed to be formed instead of rushing in, guns a-blazing.

If John had seen this coming, he could have possibly warned the woman that drawing her gun could get them killed. He didn’t even see her draw her weapon, but there it was, pointed at his best friend’s head. While he was relieved to see Sherlock alive, he most certainly did not want to see this end in bloodshed.

“Parker.”

Sherlock had picked up a stranger it seemed, who knew Parker’s identity. Was it possibly the person she was referring to while they were searching the compound? He watched as her eyes didn’t stray from Sherlock and where she had her gun pointed.

“Nate.”

“You’re not dead,” Nate concluded, inching toward Parker slowly.

“I suggest you both put your weapons away,” John added, noticing that Sherlock looked angry. That was never good.

“This your companion?” Sherlock asked the other man.

“Yes. Parker. The gun?”

Intense was all John could feel coming from Parker. This woman had obviously been to hell and back and had survived. Nate’s hand came up to push the gun down and away from Sherlock’s head just as Sherlock lowered his to his side.

“Greetings aside, we need to get the hell out of here. We’ve encountered one patrol.”

“There will be more once they realized we escaped.”

John’s eyes widened at Sherlock’s announcement that the two had escaped. Escaped from what?

As John looked down at the farmhouse, he noticed something interesting. No movement. Whoever had been down there had scattered. It could either be good for them or horrible because … John didn’t have time to think before they were surrounded.


	12. Nate's Endgame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old enemies appear with a proposal.

Chapter Twelve—Nate’s Endgame

Nate knew this was the endgame. That once they made it to the farmhouse, then Moreau would show up. He needed Parker to retrieve whatever piece of technology that was buried in that mountain fortress. No one else could do the job. Only without the rest of his team, it would be next to impossible. 

Seeing her once more was worth it. She wasn’t dead. That’s what they wanted him to believe. It all seemed so simple now. All those deaths were in vain. If Moreau had actually come to them, they could have retrieved what he wanted without bloodshed. It all came down to Damien’s ego. He wanted Nate’s team to pay, especially Eliot, for besting him. And he also wanted to rule the world, not just a small portion of the U.S. that had already been virtually destroyed. What fun was it if the kingdom you’re ruling over isn’t worth the land underneath you? He’d make presidents, monarchs, prime ministers bow to his wishes once they found out that he held the keys to the kingdom. Utter destruction, just like where they were standing, was Damien’s keys.

Parker’s eyes widened. She knew. She understood. She didn’t agree at all. He’d take the fall on this one, lead Damien to his prize, and then somehow thwart what the man had planned. He’d save Parker so that she could go on living. His time was up.

“Don’t you dare,” Parker whispered. “Don’t you dare, dammit. You’re mine. Do you understand?”

Parker literally vibrated where she stood. 

“I don't want them to die in vain.”

“Ford.”

Damien Moreau stood directly behind Parker. It seemed that he had gained even more followers if just by looking who was surrounding them. These mercenaries were hardened criminals, not just lackeys like before. He didn’t have Eliot to get into a gunfight this time. All he had were his wits.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Sherlock started.

Now all Nate had to do was keep Holmes quiet. The man could blow this.

“I have no idea who you are, nor do I care. Ford, you know what I want.”

“Oh. Now that’s a shame. I thought that my reputation preceded itself. Apparently not.”

Nate saw out of the corner of his eye Holmes’s companion standing at attention, an eye roll apparent. 

“You’re not taking her.”

Lay it down for Moreau.

“I do believe that I have the advantage. I could just shoot all three of you and take her. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need you, Ford. I do need her.”

“And as you know, Parker would not cooperate. She’s faster, stronger, and smarter than you’ll ever be.”

“Which is why I need her. You, I do not.”

“And she doesn’t know what you want. I do.”

Holmes looked at him like he was crazy. Nate felt crazy at that point. Later, much later, he’d wonder why he misjudged Holmes. The man certainly had balls. And was three steps ahead of Nate. 

“My, my, you are always so full of yourself, Ford. This time you lose.”

Damien held up a gun to Parker’s head. She didn’t move a muscle. 

“Whatever it is you want,” John started.

“You won’t kill her,” Sherlock stated as he moved just a bit closer to Moreau. “You need her expertise. You also need my companion to put your plans forth. To get them to cooperate, you need the two of us.”

Sherlock pointed to Nate and himself. What the hell was the guy doing? He wished he could read the man’s mind. There was a plan in play in which Nate had no idea. Even this John character didn’t know. Nate could see a slight twitch in Holmes’s fingers like he was waiting for something to happen.

“You take me. You forget about Parker and these other people. I’ll do whatever it is you need done.”

Moreau sighed Nate’s way. “You can break into an airtight facility, retrieve my prize? You?”

Damien Moreau was so arrogant. No, Nate didn’t have the faintest clue how to break into an airtight government facility. He’d figure it out on the fly though if he had to. 

“What do you want?” Parker asked, still not turning.

“Want? Oh. Well, for starters, I want the two of you dead. Do you realize what you’ve cost me? I want what I deserve.”

“What you deserve?” Sherlock inquired. “If it was up to me, and it’s really not up to me, I’d put a bullet in your brain and be done with it.”

Damien smiled at Sherlock.

“Oh, I’m definitely starting with you, you arrogant prick.”

“John. Remember Irene?”

“Irene? I may have gotten knocked on the head, but yes, I do.”

Damien glared at the two’s byplay. Something was indeed up with those two. 

“I do believe it’s time then.”

John rolled his eyes again, but Nate could see that the man had tensed considerably in the last few seconds. It was probably good that Nate didn’t know the plan because he could have interfered in the chaos that Holmes and his companions had planned. And when he meant companions, he really meant companions. 

“Vatican cameos,” Sherlock shouted.

Nate immediately was tackled to the ground by John while Parker was pulled against him by Sherlock. Several cracks of gunfire raked the area. There were at least one or more sharpshooters aiming for the bad guys. Nate would have cheered, but he was too busy covering Parker’s body with his own just in case one of those bullets missed its mark. Whoever was shooting did not miss. Each man fell where they stood, not able to make a run for it or to attack them in retaliation. 

Nate was not sad as he watched Damien Moreau fall to the ground with a thud. He was probably dead before he even hit the ground. A few seconds more and it turned quiet, the smell of blood permeating the air.

“Oh jesus, Sherlock. More warning next time,” John complained.

“I literally had seconds to decide on the timing. Don’t complain. He didn’t miss.”

“Tell me to never cross Mycroft Holmes ever again.”

Wait, what? Wasn’t he dead? Wasn’t that his grave they had just seen? Nate was missing all sorts of information.

“What just happened?” Parker called out from underneath him.

“Apparently my brother decided to become a one-man killing machine. About time.”

Parker stirred underneath Nate, squirming to be let up. For a woman who spent a significant amount of time in air ducts, she sometimes hated to be confined by a person. Nate had learned that firsthand and knew not to repeat that scenario. He earned the bruises from that encounter.

Nate counted at least ten bodies, including Moreau. Good riddance. What approached was not what Nate had been expecting.

Two individuals approached, one tall like Sherlock and one very, very short. They both wore camo gear, face painted to blend in. 

“You were entirely too close to the action, brother dear.”

“Stuff it, Mycroft,” Sherlock shot back. “You were lucky that I figured out that you were not dead. Mary, by the way, good shooting.”

“You’re welcome.”

Mary? The woman pulled off her hat to reveal short blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She was all business though until she saw John sitting on the ground.

“Get yourself caught again?” she asked, seeming to be very annoyed with John.

“Again? It was just the one time. You were not supposed to be here.”

“At least there was no fire this time. My aim was off just a touch. Dammit.”

With that, Mary pulled out a sidearm and fired into Moreau. Nate hadn’t even seen him move, but apparently, the woman did. Pushing him over, she tugged a gun out of his waistband and handed it to Mycroft.

“I do believe he’s dead now.”

It was like the four of them did this every day without flinching. Before Mycroft could store the weapon, Parker grabbed it, pointing it at Moreau. Mary moved to disarm Parker but was stopped by Sherlock. Emptying the clip, Parker then shakily handed it back to Mycroft.

“Rot in hell,” Parker growled low in her throat. “You took everything from me.”

“We should go. I am certain that our activities have alerted anyone that might be left in the vicinity.”

“Where’s Sterling?”

John looked at Sherlock, turning his head to look then at Mycroft.

“Gathering the vehicles as we speak.”

“He knew,” Nate stated. “The bastard knew.”

Parker helped Nate up off the dusty, cold ground, not letting go of his hand while she did.

“No, he did not. I could not risk him accidentally telling you of our plans. We needed to take all of them out. Mission accomplished.”

Mycroft Holmes was all business. Nate would even say cold, but as he watched the older man look at Sherlock, he knew that the older man would move heaven and earth to keep his younger brother safe.

“Time to go,” Mary announced.

And so would the woman as she looked on at John. Nate didn’t know the whole story, but it looked as if Mary and John had a history.

“Come on, dears. Time to get the hell out of here. I have a tea party that I need to attend.”

Tea party? Nate shook his head in disbelief.

“Just don’t give her the real thing next time. The honey was a bitch to clean.”

“Sweetheart, she climbed to the top of the counter to retrieve it. Can’t fault her for that.”

“Sherlock taught her that trick.”

Nate could see the twinkle in Mary’s eyes as she looked at her companions. They all had a history together, possibly a child together. It hit him right then, realizing that he’d never again have this kind of connection. He only had Parker left of his small circle. He’d hold onto her for dear life to preserve that last link.


	13. Where to Go, What to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate finds out why they were targeted.

Chapter Thirteen—Where to Go, What to Do

In the end, Parker did get to retrieve that piece of technology along with a nasty virus that had been stored at the government facility for safekeeping. At least she wasn’t working under duress, like if she didn’t complete it, Nate was murdered for her mistakes. 

It wasn’t that much of a challenge for her. She just wondered if the U.S. government knew that the British government was operating on their soil. It didn’t matter to her. Moreau was dead. The other faction had been taken out by Moreau, so he did half the job for them. That was why Parker and John had escaped so quickly. If they had waited for rescue, then Moreau would have gotten what he wanted without any effort. 

Minnesota was nice but way too cold. She shivered as she looked out at the new snow that was falling. She’d had enough of snow and not eating and running for her life. She was sure that Nate would agree.

“I hate snow,” a voice came from behind her.

It had been snowing when Eliot died. It had been raining when Sophie died. She didn’t mention that it had been sunny when Hardison perished. That was why he was outside in the first place. It had been one of the first sunny days in weeks. He had just wanted to soak it up since they had been confined to a safe space.

“We could go back to Portland. We could go to Bermuda? Soak up the sun. A deserted island out in the middle of nowhere.”

As much as Parker wanted to finally be alone with her thoughts, being physically alone made her a bit queasy. They had been alone for months, not being able to rely on anybody or anything.

“London? Paris? I wonder if they ever updated the security system to the Hope Diamond?”

Nate laughed behind her. He hadn’t touched her yet since finding her except for holding her hand.

“There’s a Degas on display at the British Museum.”

“Child’s play.”

“We could go to the Louvre.”

“I need a challenge though. I know their system backward and forward. The Met? I haven’t been there in a while.”

“It um, not sure if there’s anything left.”

Dammit, Parker thought. The world was not the same place it was a year ago. Things would be missing, places would not be the same.

“I know where they store the good stuff.”

Nate chuckled at her admission.

“Holmes, the elder one, wants us to go back to London. I’m not sure.”

“What? Work for him? I don’t trust him.”

“He’s got an elite team.”

“Get us back in the country then arrest us?”

A hand rested on her shoulder.

“Mycroft Holmes is as shifty as they come. Besides, if you look who he employs.”

“That Mary character is scary.”

Parker had the urge to climb. It had disappeared over the last months of running from the destruction. Then she wanted to curl up into a ball. 

“Live your life for me,” Eliot whispered in her ear.

“Or we could go to the Caymans and empty some rich old guy’s bank account.”

“Might be fun to pull a Sophie.”

“For old time’s sake.”

“I am not going to run the con, Nate. Besides, I might have to stab him with a fork or something.”

Parker sighed in frustration. She wasn’t some ticking time bomb ready to go off at any moment.

“You can touch me, you know. I’m good. I’m here.”

“I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t.”

Parker leaned back against Nate as his arms enveloped her.

“Boston?”

“Too many ghosts.

“Washington, DC?”

“We could take over a country?”

“Already done that.”

“Maybe London wouldn’t suck so bad.”

Only they didn’t make it to London, opting to disappear, go off the grid. They both needed to not think about the past or dwell on the what-ifs. Nate literally screamed in his head when he saw Sterling approach, dressed for the office, not the beach.

Their little island was quiet, serene and had no trace of any of their ghosts that Nate could find. Both he and Parker could start again, heal, gain weight, and figure out what their next move was. Only Nate couldn’t move forward. He often sat on the beach, looking out at the waves as they gently lapped at the sand. He knew that Parker was getting a bit frustrated with him. His inaction was driving her crazy. It was like she needed to keep moving forward, even if that meant being hurt repeatedly.

“What?”

“Hello to you too, Nate.”

“Lackey does not suit you, Sterling.”

“If you think that I’m beholden to that…”

“Yeah, well, you did it with Blackpoole. Holmes is more powerful than god right now. So, you might wanna rethink that statement.”

“Fair enough. I wanted to bring this to you.”

Sterling handed over a paper file to Nate. Pushing his sunglasses up off his face, Nate started to flip through what Sterling had brought him.

“If you want, I’ll give you a minute.”

“Why?” Nate really wanted to know why Sterling would do something like this for him. Going back in time, Sterling was one of the few people who actually talked to him after his son died. All the others either avoided Nate or stammered a quick sorry when they encountered him. 

“I think it was something that Spencer would say. Never leave a man behind.”

“But I left them. Behind. I didn’t save them. I couldn’t save them.”

“The odds were stacked against you. I probably would have put a bullet to my head long before.”

“So, you’re saying it was my stupidity that I didn’t?”

Sometimes Nate thought it was stupid to keep on going. Living in a world where something like this could happen would get to the best of people.

“It took more courage to live. Listen, Nate. You may not want to hear this, but I’m glad, hopeful for you. You’ve been knocked down, but you get back up fighting. I’m a bit envious.”

“Save it,” Nate shot back, but without as much venom as before. “They deserve this.”

“Indeed, they do. Because if it had been you who took that first bullet, I don’t think I’d be standing here, giving this file to any of the others. From what I could gather, you were the intended target. The shooter got cocky and thought he could take out all of you.”

“You know, who did this?”

“And it’s been dealt with.”

As in, the shooter is probably either dead or wished he was dead. 

“There were at least three factions operating in the area at the time in addition to Moreau and his people. It’s amazing when it all goes to shit the roaches that crawl out of the woodwork. The funny thing is Moreau was not responsible for the first attack.”

“He just wanted to capitalize on the chaos.”

“Which has always been his MO. Either cause the chaos and sit back and watch the world burn to pick up the pieces and take control. He thought he could be a king.”

Nate threw the file folder down onto the lounger. The sand and water beckoned him. He’d pay for it later because he couldn’t remember whether he had any sunscreen on. Parker had taken to literally tackling him in the morning to lather the sunscreen on him. His ears had even peeled at one point the first week they were there. Slowly he was developing a slight tan.

“How does Holmes play into all of this? The British government was so concerned?” Nate asked sarcastically.

“They did not take Moreau’s gestures of wanting to take over the world too kindly. Mycroft was assigned to stop him.”

“So, he went undercover?”

“So, he disappeared so that he could go undercover. He left one of his agents to see over his brother.”

“Moreau didn’t have him?”

“One of the other factions happened to capture him. An extraction team freed him just in time to save you.”

“The woman, Mary I think her name was.”

“His agent. Who was supposed to protect the younger brother?”

“Isn’t she married to Sherlock’s best friend?”

“Yes, well. Seems you can’t help who you fall in love with.”

Nate had been lucky throughout his life. He had met and fallen in love with two of the most wonderful, talented, lovely and exasperating women in the world. He still couldn’t decide whether it had happened a third time or whether it was all just necessity on his part. Besides, he could never define what he and Sophie had. It wasn’t conventional by any stretch of the imagination. Who was he to judge what and who this Mary person was?

“She took the kill away. Parker was very upset about it.”

“At the time, the order to kill was paramount. Take the win, Nate.”

What win? His team was gone, he was sitting on a deserted island with a woman who was half crazy. Rejoining civilization didn’t seem to hold much sway.

“I won nothing, Jim. I’m alive. If you could call it that.”

“I can’t tell you how to live your life. All I could give you was this.”

Nate stood up now, joints making it harder and harder each day. He was getting old or what felt like old. He’d lived more lifetimes in the past ten years than most people did in one lifetime. His nine lives were almost up.

“If you ever need a job.”

“Sterling, if I ever need a job? I own an island.”

“If you get bored easily, you know where to find me.” Sterling stuck out his hand to shake, and Nate gladly excepted. “Just give the word on this.”

“I will. I need to talk to Parker first.”

He could see her off in the distance, running toward him. She’d taken to running around the island to get exercise, to burn off steam. His lack of wanting to do anything other than sit and brood had started to take a toll on her. Months and months of sitting, waiting for something in his mind to change. She was either a saint or an idiot and Parker was no idiot. Much more patient than he could ever be, but he’d never call her an idiot.

Sterling slowly walked the other way, which was probably a good thing. Confronting him now would not be a good thing for Parker. She didn’t know why he had contacted his former friend. Better to have kept that to himself just in case Sterling had failed in his task.

“Sterling stalking you? Because that’s just weird,” Parker called out when she finally got close enough for him to hear.

“No. Just wanted to talk.”

“Did you tell him no? A job offer?”

“Of course. You think I’d work for him?”

“No. Of course not,” Parker told him, although, by the look on her face, she might not have said no to him.

“You get in your little workout thing?”

“Workout thing? So says the man who punches a bag for hours on end.”

Nate had taken up boxing again if just to be able to hit something and not hurt anyone except for himself. 

Instead of engaging him in banter, which is what Sophie would have done, Parker just turned and walked away. He never knew exactly what she was going to do, only that she had her way of dealing with him and sometimes it just paid to walk away. Both ways had irritated him. Everything lately had irritated him.

Following along in her wake, he made sure that the folder was tucked under his arm. He wanted to talk to her when she was in a better mood, preferably when she wouldn’t throw something sharp his way. Once was enough.

Pouring a drink, he sat down to go over the file. It took Parker quite some time to shower and get dressed, but he didn’t have the heart to pull her out of it and tell her what the file said. Why was he stalling? Was it the fact that this would close the book on one part of their lives finally?

“You’re brooding,” Parker announced as she came into the room.

“As always,” Nate replied as he took a good, long drink of his whiskey.

He shut the file in finality, gesturing for Parker to come sit with him.

“How many miles?”

“What?”

“How many miles did you run today?”

This was their game. Ask the other what they did that day since they didn’t spend every waking moment together. They both needed their space. While with Sophie, he practically spent every waking moment with her as did Parker with Hardison. They did not since coming to the island.

“Five. Slow day. I got distracted. Did you know about that waterfall on the other side?”

Of course, he knew about the waterfall. She’d told him about it at least three other times.

“There’s like these flowers blooming. They smell good.”

Now that was new.

“Good.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What did you do?”

“Not much.”

Which was as usual for him. His body was stationary while his mind worked over and over what had happened in the last two years.

“So, what’s up with Sterling?”

Nate looked her up and down, noticed the tan on her arms, her pink nose, the freckles that had started to form on her shoulders. She had started to finally get back the muscle she had before all this had gone crazy. Her hair was now clean and shining in the sunlight. It was only her eyes that had changed. The look of sorrow sometimes made him ache. There wasn’t much he could do about that other than exist. 

“He found them.”

“Found them?”

He tried to keep his expressions neutral until she caught up, but it was a lost cause. As he gripped his drinking glass tighter, he watched her features fall even more. Her breathing picked up, her fingers curled into a ball, turning white. That pink freshness of her face from her run and subsequent shower disappeared in an instant.

“What do we do?”

She was looking for him to have a plan? His planning phase was gone, completely gone.

“Bury them. Say goodbye.”

“No,” Parker said, wiping tears off her pale face. “No. They’re not gone. I am not going to stand here and say that they’re gone.”

He’d never had this argument with her. It had always been her that told him that they were gone. Nate had always thought that they all haunted him.

“Parker. It’s not…”

“It’s not what?”

“You were there.”

“This isn’t. I don’t want…”

As he grabbed her fingers, he noticed that they were cold under his. Her pale face became even more translucent.

“You have to fix this.”

Fix this? Did her grasp of reality finally meet its breaking point?

“I can’t fix this,” he told her, exasperated at what she was asking.

“You can’t, I don’t, I can’t jump again. I can’t do this again. Don’t make me do this again.”

Nate looked into her tear-filled eyes, trying to figure out what she was referring. As he did, one tear rolled down her cheek. He’d do anything to make that feeling go away for her. He’d tried his best to help her get over what had happened, holding her in the middle of the night when the nightmares became too much to handle. He watched as she slipped away at odd times during the day, only to return scratched and red from falling somewhere on the island. He chided her to eat something, anything. He covered her body with his, showing her that he cared as much as he could for her. It only momentarily took that sorrow away in her eyes, even as she screamed out his name as she came.

He wished he had seen this before, in all those times when they had been close. The look in her eyes, like this was enough, that she didn’t want to go on. Only this time, before he could gather her up in his arms, he saw something a bit odd in the reflection of her eye. It wasn’t what was behind him. No beach, no sun-filled light filtering through, no tropical plants waving in the breeze. What he saw in that reflection was chaos, cold lights, and white walls.

“Wake up,” she whispered to him as her hand came up to rest on the side of his head.

Then his world went white, felt like he was free-falling down an elevator shaft without a harness. Before he went completely under, his hand grabbed out, like he was trying to stop that feeling. Instead of just flailing, he touched something solid and warm.

“Wake up,” echoed in his head.

It wasn’t Parker’s statement for him to wake up. It was Sophie, her eyes haunted.

“Nate,” was the last thing he heard as he went under again.


End file.
